When Darkness Calls
by bambers2
Summary: The hunters become the hunted when an elusive stalker sets his sights on the Winchester boys. Murder dogs their path, danger lurks in the most innocent of places, and there is nowhere to hide When Darkness Calls.
1. Chapter 1

_So, new story...hope everyone enjoys!! As always, I live for reviews!! thanks, bambers;)_

_When Darkness Calls _

"Dean, your phone's ringin' again," Sam mumbled as he rolled over on his bed. "Come on, dude, answer the damn thing or we'll never get any rest tonight." He wrapped the pillow over his head, snuggling deeper under the covers. The sound of his steady breathing told Dean his brother was asleep even as he yawned and tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean yawned, stretching tired muscles. Bleary-eyed, he fumbled for the cell on the bedside table. "Hello."

Deafening silence, the only reply.

"When I find out who the hell this is, I'm so gonna kick your ass for keeping me awake night after night for nearly two weeks." Dean jabbed the disconnect and slammed the phone down.

Another ring.

He snatched the phone from the nightstand. "Who the hell is this!"

"How's Sammy, Dean?" came a deceptively soft voice. "He looks so peaceful when he's asleep. It's almost as if he doesn't know he's being watched."

Dean shot to his feet, fingers tightening around the phone. Grabbing the knife from beneath his pillow, Dean stormed to the window, yanked back the curtains and peered out into the darkness. Not seeing anything, he went to the door and flung it open. "Where the hell are you?" he growled, eyes narrowing as he searched the parking lot.

"I wonder if that's how he'll look when he's dead?" The man on the other end of the line laughed.

"You touch one goddamn hair on his head, and I swear to God, I'll hunt you down and rip you apart with my bare hands, you sonuvabitch!"

"You won't even be able to find me, Dean." He chuckled. "I've been watching you for months now and you've never even noticed me."

Dean stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. He shivered as a blast of icy air bit at bare skin. Heavy snowflakes swirled around him, dampening his face and clinging to his thick eyelashes. He blinked them away, mind racing, trying to recall anyone who might've been following them. "What do you mean, you've been watching us?"

"You like your coffee black, think M&M's are a food group, have a weird late night obsession with graveyards, and sleep with that knife you're holding under your pillow."

Dean stared incredulously at the blade he held in his right hand, then glanced from side to side, searching the deserted parking area. _How the hell could he know that?_

The man drew a deep breath and continued, "Sammy, on the other hand, likes a dash of cream in his coffee, twirls his fork through his scrambled eggs when he's deep in thought, hates being called Sammy, and has terrible nightmares where he wakes up screaming."

Dean took a shuddering breath, frigid air burning his nostrils. Mindless of the cold stinging his bare feet, Dean climbed onto a snowbank and peered into the darkened woods. Moonlit shadows dipped in and out through the skeletal trees, branches bent eerily in the breeze. "How do you know so much about us?"

"I told you, Dean. I've been watching you. Watching and waiting, trying to decide. . . ." The man's voice trailed off, baiting Dean.

"Trying to decide what, you sonuvabitch?"

"Which one of you I should kill first."

"Not if I find you first."

Maniacal laughter erupted from the phone. "I already told you, you'll never find me."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of," Dean growled into the phone, wispy plumes of frigid smoke lifting into the night air.

"I think I know you and Sammy pretty well." The phone went silent for a brief moment, only the sound of the man's steady breathing filling the void. "I'm disappointed in you, Dean. You never did ask what I've decided."

"I don't give a rat's ass what you've decided."

"Ah, very well." There was condescension and stinging mockery in the man's tone. "But if you should happen to change your mind, just check your emails."

Dean glanced at the motel room door. "I don't have an email."

"Sure you do, Dean. Just check."

The line went dead. Dean stood staring at his cell. "Sonuvabitch."

He turned and rushed back inside, catching the door before it slammed shut and woke Sam. Grabbing the laptop, he headed to the bathroom. Dean flipped on the computer and noticed four emails waiting for him to read.

He clicked open the first document and saw his name written repeatedly throughout the page. _What the — _Frowning, he opened the next one to find the exact same thing only with Sam's name instead. On the third email he scrolled halfway down and found the word _'then' _intermingled amongst the repetitions of his name. Dean went back to the first one and, sure enough, halfway down he saw the name _'Sammy' _written in bold black letters.

Hands trembling, he reopened the second and fourth emails and found the words _'first' _and _'you'_.

_Sammy first then you. _

Dean glared at the computer screen. _I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some maniac try to hurt you, Sammy. _

Raking fingers through his scruffy hair, Dean racked his brain, trying to recall anyone over the past month who might've stood out. _There's got to be someone_ _who seemed strange . . . I must've noticed someone watching us._ He ran his hand along his jaw and scowled. _There's no one. _

"You've got mail," came the computer generated voice and Dean jumped, startled by the sudden noise.

He quickly opened the email and found a link to a website called The Death Watch. Jabbing the button with his index finger, Dean cringed, seeing a live video feed of their motel bedroom, the camera aimed directly at Sam's sleeping form.

Dean sucked in a deep breath, stomach clenching as he read the caption beneath the video.

_He's sleeping so peacefully, I wonder if he's even aware he is about to die._

Under the dire words there were dozens of photos of both Sam and Dean: on hunts, at motels, eating in diners, sleeping, even showering. _Goddamn it! The freakin bastard's been in our room._

Dean slammed the computer shut and stormed out of the bathroom. He strode to Sam's bed, shaking him roughly. "Get up, Sammy. We're leaving."

"What? Why?" Sam grumbled between yawns. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stretching as he glared at Dean. "It's the middle of the freakin night and it's snowing, for God's sake. Can't we wait til morning?"

"Damn it, Sammy. Get the hell up and get ready to go. Now," Dean ordered, not bothering to look at Sam as he crammed clothes into their duffels.

"Dean, what's the matter?" Sam sat up, the covers sliding down his bare muscular chest gathering across his hips.

Frowning, Dean threw Sam his shirt and pants. "Get dressed. And dude, if you're not wearing boxers, for God's sake don't stand up."

"Dude, you do realize, you're not making any sense, right?" Sam shrugged on his flannel shirt, hastily buttoning it, then yanked on his pants.

"Sammy, I want to be outta here in like five minutes so get moving," Dean said evasively. _I can't tell him there's some stalker trailing us. Not yet . . . I have to figure this out first._

Sam's brows furrowed, lips drawn into a hard line against his teeth, steady gaze following Dean's every movement. "Does this have something to do with that phone call earlier?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that." Dean went into the bathroom and gathered their stuff. He hastily returned, throwing everything into the bag.

"A job?" Sam asked, zipping his jacket.

"Not exactly." Dean threw on his jacket, grabbed their bags and headed for the door with Sam following. With his hand on the doorknob, Dean turned to his brother, biting at his lower lip. "Just stick close, okay?"

Narrowing hazel eyes, Sam stared at him. "What aren't you telling me? What's wrong?"

_How the hell am I supposed to tell him that every move we make someone is watching? _Dean scowled, shaking his head in disgust at the thought of the live video feed of Sam sleeping. _Hell, from the looks of it, everyone is watching for that matter. _

"Nothing's wrong." Dean turned and marched to the Impala before Sam could ask anything else.

Snow continued to fall at a steady pace, brisk, biting winds whipped across the snow-covered ground, kicking up snow and making it hard for Dean to see more than two feet in front of him. Dean opened the trunk, threw the bags in, closed it and got in the car.

Sam brushed the snow off the car, then scrapped the ice from the windows. He slid into the passenger's side, slamming the door. Leaning against the window, he crossed his arms and silently brooded.

Starting the engine, Dean flipped on the lights and windshield wipers. He peeled out of the parking lot with tires slipping and sliding through the fresh snow. Dean could feel Sam's angry glare on him as he kept his eyes trained on the road. _Oh, great, he isn't going to let this go. Man, he's like a freakin' pit bull when he gets something in his head. _

"Dean?"

"Sam." They spoke simultaneously.

"What, Sammy?" Dean gave him a sidelong glance, before returning his attention to the road ahead.

Sam turned and stared at him. "I'm not stupid, I know something's wrong." He hesitated, licking his lips. "That phone call, what was it about? You were fine until then."

Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in perfect rhythm to AC/DC's Highway to Hell, Dean let out a deep exasperated sigh. "It was just a crank call. Some dumb jerk trying to get a rise out of me."

"Well, apparently it worked, dude, cause I've haven't seen you this agitated in a long time."

Red flashing lights cut a path through the heavy snowfall ahead. The strobe of lights from police cars and an ambulance lit the night. A single dark sedan sat at the intersection, but Dean saw no evidence of a wreck. He squinted through the steady swish of the wipers as he slowed. A police officer flagged for them to pull to a stop, and motioned for Dean to roll down his window.

The patrolman leaned in, resting his arm on the window frame. "You boys will have to take another road. This one's closed."

Dean jerked his head toward several men putting two body bags into an ambulance, and asked, "What happened?"

"Double homicide." The officer shook his head, scrubbing his hand across his face. "Looks like someone shot them while they were waiting for the light to change."

"Anyone see anything?" Sam asked, leaning forward in his seat and peering at the car.

"You fellas need to leave now before you cause an accident."

"All right. Thanks officer." Dean turned the Impala around and headed back in the direction they'd come from.

"That's odd." Sam swiveled in his seat to stare back at the black sedan.

"What's odd?"

"Two guys being gunned down, in the middle of the night, in a snow storm."

"Happens all the time, Sammy." He didn't miss the implication, it wasn't hard to guess Sam had noticed how similar the other car was to Dean's Impala. No. Sammy wasn't stupid by a long shot.

"Did you happen to notice — "

Dean's cell phone rang, silencing Sam immediately.

Dean stared at the phone for a second, stomach churning as he flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Now see what you made me do," came the same deceptively calm tone as earlier. "It's all your fault, Dean. If you'd only stayed where you were those two poor boys wouldn't be dead now." He paused, chuckling. "Course, then, I guess you would be."


	2. Chapter 2

_okay, so new chapter, hopefully it will be just as creepy! Hope everyone enjoys and if you do let me know!! I do so love reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Two_

Dean stared at the phone in utter disbelief. "You sick sonuvabitch," he growled, grip tightening on the phone.

"Shame they were in the way, isn't it, Dean? It was so easy. . . ." The man was quiet for a moment, his steady breathing the only noise breaking the chilling silence. When he finally spoke again, something akin to pure pleasure colored his tone."The look of terror in a man's eyes when he knows he's going to be murdered is truly breathtaking, Dean. A myriad of emotions all played out for my benefit."

"Who you talkin' to?" Sam asked, brows pulled together, mouth turned downward as he frowned.

Dean raised a hand to silence Sam, giving him a warning glance.

"Ah, is that Sammy?" The man chuckled. "I do so love the inflection in his voice. I've often fantasied what it will sound like as he's begging for his life."

The hairs on the nape of Dean's neck stood on end, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "You're not gonna touch him. You hear me?"

"Hang up the damn phone, Dean." Sam turned in his seat to stare at Dean. "Just hang up."

"You know him best, what do you think it would take to make him scream?"

Dean swallowed hard against the tight knot forming in his throat. The muscle in his jaw jerked erratically as he clenched his teeth. "Touch him and I swear to God, I'll hunt you down and kill you."

"You can't be with him every second, Dean. He is going to die. It's just a matter of when."

Dean shook his head, eyes narrowing. "You'll never get the chance."

"I can get to anyone . . . anywhere, anytime — like right now."

Hearing the ominous click-click of a rifle being cocked, Dean dropped the phone. "Sammy, get down!" He grabbed Sam, pushed his head down and ducked. A blast of gunfire echoed through the stillness of the night, quickly followed by another. Glass shattered above them, then the car swerved out of control as the second bullet struck the back tire.

"Son of a — " Clutching the wheel in a white knuckled grip, Dean struggled to gain control of the Impala as it skidded across the icy pavement and slammed into a snowbank. Dean flew forward, chest colliding into the steering wheel, the wind knocked from him.

He drew in a staggering breath, clutching his aching chest. "Sam . . . Sammy you okay?"

"Yeah. Hit my head on the dashboard." Sam's large hand covered his forehead, blood seeping from beneath his fingers. "You?"

"M'okay." He took a slow breath, wincing. "Let me take a look at that cut."

Sam pulled his hand away, blood oozing from the wound.

Dean grabbed Sam's chin, tilting his head sideways so he could get a better look at the gash. "It doesn't look too bad. You'll probably need a few stitches."

"Dean, what the hell's going on?"

"I honestly don't know, Sammy." Dean glanced out the shattered front window into the darkness. Snowflakes swirled through the broken glass and slowly melted on the warm dashboard. "This guy called earlier and said he's been watching us." He shrugged, biting at his lower lip. "It's like he knows everything about us, dude. Everything."

"And when the hell did you plan on telling me someone's stalking us?" Sam stared incredulously at Dean.

"Truthfully, I hadn't planned on telling you at all. Now stay down." Slamming the gear into reverse, Dean looked over his shoulder as he tried to back out of the snowbank. The tires spun as the engine roared, a flurry of snow kicking up. "Come on, damn it! Move you stupid car."

He shifted the Impala into park, reached past Sam and rummaged through the glove compartment. Snatching his .45 and making sure it was loaded, he edged his way out of the car, looking around cautiously. "Stay in the car, Sam. I'm gonna try and rock it free." He raised his gun and aimed it into the woods at the side of the road, steely gaze darting back and forth, searching the trees for their attacker.

Dean climbed onto the snowbank, pocketed his gun and braced himself against the hood of the car. "Gun the engine," he hollered. The engine growled as Dean rocked it back and forth, taut muscles straining against the heavy steel. After several minutes, he held up his hand to stop Sam. He went around to the side of the car and knelt down. He grimaced. _Freakin tree stump. _Reaching under the Impala, he yanked at the log, but it was wedged tight.

"Sonuvabitch." He smashed his fist into the fender. _Damn it. Can't anything go right tonight? _"Sam, grab your gun, we have to walk to town."

Sam slid out of the car, ducking low, his gun raised. "So that's it? This is why we hightailed it out of the motel in the middle of the night?" Sam was silent for a moment as he glanced in the direction they'd come from, frowning. "And those two guys back there at the light . . . they're dead because of us?"

"That wasn't our fault, Sammy."

"You don't know that, Dean."

"Yeah, I do. We didn't kill anyone." Dean glared at Sam for a second and then returned his attention to the forest looming all around them.

"But whoever is stalking us did and that makes it our fault."

"No, it isn't. He did that. It was his choice, we couldn't have stopped him." Dean gestured toward the trunk."Get the weapons." Never taking his sight off the woodlands, he moved to stand protectively at Sam's back.

Sam snatched the keys from the ignition and popped the trunk, pulling out their duffels and weapons.

"Hey, what's this?" Sam asked.

Dean turned to look as Sam aimed his flashlight inside the trunk. Sam reached in and pulled out a thick white envelope. He ripped it open and yanked out a bunch of pictures and a note. He drew in a sharp intake of air. Eyes widening, Sam flipped from one photo to the next. "Oh, God, Dean. He-he killed all these people." Hands trembling, Sam dropped the pictures and the letter on the ground, leaning against the car clutching his stomach. "He's as bad as any demon we ever hunted. God, we can't let him do this again . . . we have to stop him."

"Don't worry, Sammy, we will." Dean bent and snatched them from the snow. His stomach lurched as he stared at the gruesome images. Snapshots depicting different men brutalized beyond recognition. Some with eyes ripped from their sockets, lips swollen, dried blood caked to them, their faces tinged blue with death. Others horribly disfigured, missing arms or legs, their bodies sliced from throat to abdomen.

_Freakin psycho. No way your gettin your hands on my brother._

"You've messed with the wrong people this time, you miserable sonuvabitch," Dean hollered, his voice carrying on the strong breeze and echoing through the trees.

Dean opened the letter and quickly read it.

_Dean, couldn't kill you so quickly. That would spoil the fun. I have better plans for you. But I can get to you anytime, anywhere. There is no place you can run to that I can't find you or Sam. Remember, Sam first and then you. Have a nice walk. I'll be watching. Two-finger Charlie. _

Crumpling the letter into a tight ball, Dean threw it and the pictures into the trunk. "Dude, get your bag and as many weapons as you can, we're gettin the hell outta here."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why's he doing this?" Sam hesitated, taking a deep breath. Raking stray strands of snow-covered hair out of his eyes, he looked from Dean to the photos and then back. His hazel-eyed gaze fixed on Dean. "What did we do? We must've done something."

"The man's a freakin psycho, Sammy. Don't let him get inside your head. We didn't do anything." Snatching several weapons out of the trunk, Dean began checking and loading the guns. He handed two to Sam and then pocketed one, putting another in his waistband.

Sam grimaced as he gestured toward the pictures. "There are so many of them. So many lives destroyed by this monster." Drawing in a shallow breath, Sam turned to stare at Dean. "What if . . . what if I become — "

"You're not like him, Sammy." Dean glanced at Sam, squinting to get a better look at his brother in the darkness. _Oh, shit, Sammy, don't do this now . . . not now. Not while some lunatic's out there stalking us._

"How can you be sure, Dean?" Sam lowered his head, shoving the gun in his pocket.

"If anyone knows what you are and aren't capable of, it's me, dude."

"I killed Steve Wondell."

"You were possessed."

"It doesn't matter if I was, Dean. I still killed a man."

"I thought we settled this. It wasn't your fault."

"Just because we don't talk about it, doesn't mean it is settled." Sam glared at him as he shouldered his duffel.

"You're not like this guy, Sammy. You're not a cold-blooded killer."

Sam swiped away the blood, snaking a trail down his cheek. "For Christ's sake, I shot you. I could've killed you, too."

Dean grabbed a few snapshots from the trunk and shoved them in Sam's face. "Look at these . . . look good and hard. Could you do this to a person? Could you torture someone like this?"

Sam stared at the horrid pictures for several seconds. "No, I couldn't." He swallowed convulsively, looking away.

"Well, there ya go then, dude." Dean tossed the photos into the trunk and slammed it shut. "Now if we're finished arguing about this, can we get moving before the real killer decides to make good on his threats?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

Dean grinned. "No chick-flick moments, Samantha."

Sam punched him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

A thin layer of ice crunched underfoot as they trudged through the drifting snow. Biting winds blew a solid blinding sheet of snow across the road as strong gusts rattled though the trees, snapping ice-covered branches. Strong blasts of chilled air forced them to lower their heads.

Sam turned up the collar of his jacket. Trembling, he crammed his hands into his pockets. "I-it's freezin' out here, dude."

Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, beneath his fingerless gloves, his hands were numb from the cold. Brushing the snow from his hair, he kept his sight trained on the woods while they followed the snow-covered road, stinging sleet pelting his face. "W-we have to be close to town by now." His teeth chattered as he shivered uncontrollably. "We didn't drive that many miles."

Blinking hard, Sam rubbed the snow from his eyes. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, shuddering and coughing as he drew in a breath. "I don't even know if we're going in the right direction anymore, Dean." Frosty plumes of white air escaped his lips as he spoke.

"We're still on the road, dude."

Sam stopped and glared at him. "How can you be sure? I mean really we've been walking forever and haven't seen a light or even a road sign . . . we should've stayed at the motel."

"We couldn't."

"Why the hell not? It would've been safer. Those two guys might be alive right now if we had."

The muscle in Dean's jaw jerked as he stood and stared at his brother. "He had the room wired, Sam," he said and then strode away.

Sam caught up to him, grabbed him by the arm and swung him around. "What do you mean he had the room wired?" His dark eyes narrowed, brows pulling together in anger. "When the hell did you plan on telling me?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"Christ, Dean. You've gotta stop trying to protect me from everything."

Dean shook his head resolutely. "Never gonna happen, Sammy. I'm never gonna stop trying to watch out for you."

"We're in this together, dude. Together no matter what — which means you have to let me stand on my own two feet." Sam looked him square in the eyes. "You can't shelter me anymore, Dean. I've seen too much. I know what kind of evil is out there lurking in the dark."

Dean sighed heavily. "Look Sam — " A sharp crack of gunfire cut through the stillness. Dean grabbed to pull Sam down even as his brother let out a muffled cry and fell forward into his arms, knocking them both to the ground.

Dean knelt beside his brother, heart skipping a beat. His chest constricted painfully, noticing a small pool of blood staining the pristine snow. Sam stared at him for a moment, trying to speak and then his eyelids slid closed.

"Sam . . . Sammy! Answer me . . . Don't you dare die on me."

"I told you, Dean. Anytime. Anywhere." The stalker's voiced echoed through the trees, coming from everywhere all at once. "But don't worry, he's not dead — yet. I'm an excellent shot and didn't aim for any vital organs. Where would be the fun in that?" His hideous laughter rang out through the night. "No, when I kill Sam it will be nice and slow while you watch. Sam first, then you."

"I'm gonna kill you! You hear me," Dean hollered. Raising his gun, he aimed and fired several rounds into the trees. "You're dead. Dead!"

"Not if I get you first. . . ."


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay, as I promised, this is the edited version of the story I posted earlier... Just a warning, I think this chapter is very creepy and scary, just so everyone knows before hand...thanks for reading! if you liked it, if it creeped you out, please review and tell me what you think, thanks again for reading, bambers;) also should add that anything from season two is fair game in this story..._

_Chapter Three_

Sam's eyelids fluttered open hearing the scuff of footfalls on the tile flooring. Someone touched him lightly on the shoulder then pulled his arm toward the bed railing. He blinked hard several times, trying to clear the blurry, kaleidoscope images circling in front of him. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, stomach churning in protest. Closing his eyes, Sam took several slow breaths.

Firm, calloused hands wrapped around Sam's other arm and gently moved it to the side of the bed. Hearing a strangely familiar tearing noise, Sam eyes flew open. Another wave of dizziness assaulted his senses.

He squinted at the figure towering above him. A surgical mask and cap told him this was a doctor binding his wrist to the steel railing. _What's he doing that for? _Sam struggled for several moments, trying to free himself, arms tingling and feeling heavy and useless.

"Dea — " He coughed, his raw throat felt as if he'd swallowed gravel. "Dea — " He tried calling again in a whisper.

"Ah, you want your brother. He's not here right now." The doctor stared at Sam. "You were very lucky, an inch or two more to the left and you would be paralyzed now." His tone was rich and charismatic.

Sam tried to focus on the man in the surgical mask, the drug induced fog clouding his brain made it almost impossible. Clearing his throat, he whispered, "H-he okay."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Dean." The doctor laughed ominously. "He's not the one in danger — yet."

"I-I don't under — "Sam swallowed hard, trying to fight off the vertigo, the man's face shifting in and out of focus.

"Let me make things a little clearer for you. My name is Charlie — Two-finger Charlie," the man said with an air of self-importance. "You know the nice thing about hospitals, Sammyboy?" Charlie leaned closer and whispered in Sam's ear. "Wear a doctor's uniform and no one gives you a second glance."

_Oh God, it's him. _Sam shied away, head lolling to the side, arms slack and ineffective against the bindings holding him prisoner. Even with the sedatives, his back throbbed mercilessly as he vainly struggled to free himself.

"Help," he tried to yell, a raspy cough replaced his desperate cry.

Charlie grasped onto Sam's hospital gown and yanked him forward into a half-sitting position. The stalker put an index finger to his lips. "Shhh . . . I'd hate to have to hurt another person because you drew attention to my presence. You wouldn't want that now would you?"

Sam shook his head.

The man chuckled softly. "And you never know, it might just be your brother who walks through the door."

_I won't let him hurt you, Dean. _Sam clenched his teeth in an effort not to scream for Dean.

"Good. We have an understanding." Charlie abruptly released him and Sam fell back onto the bed. Reaching in the pocket of the white lab coat, the stalker pulled out a roll of gray duct tape. "But in case you try to change your mind." He ripped off a large strip of the sticky tape, grabbed Sam by the hair and covered Sam's mouth.

Charlie set the tape on the bedside table and withdrew something from his pocket. A glint of silver caught Sam's attention. Holding a razor-sharp scalpel aloft for Sam to see, Charlie stroked the handle. "Such a useful instrument, don't you think?"

Lightly trailing the sharp knife down the side of Sam's face, Charlie rested the scalpel on Sam's Adam's apple. Sam flinched as Charlie pressed the blade a little closer to his throat.

_I've got to get away . . . have to warn Dean. _Sam tried to clench his fists, the powerful sedatives making his muscles lax and unresponsive. He stared at his right arm, mentally willing it to move. His hand barely budged. _Come on, damn it! Move. _His fingers curled slightly and then went slack.

"I've been watching you two for sometime now, and must admit my intrigue."

The blade slid to rest in the hollow at the base of Sam's throat. Sam's heartbeat quickened, chest heaving. Furrowing his brows, he glared at the stalker.

"Awww . . . Don't look so angry, Sammyboy, it was a compliment. I don't impress easy." The corners of Charlie's eyes wrinkled as he chuckled. "All your late night escapades: breaking into houses and building, digging up graves and setting the remains ablaze, pretending to be reporters, ahhh . . . so much fun to watch."

He lifted the scalpel from Sam's throat and jabbed it toward him. "But the one I enjoyed watching the most was when the two of you broke into that bank in Milwaukee, posing as workers from a security system company and then later escaped dressed as SWAT officers." He nodded in approval. "Now that — that was impressive."

_Oh God, Dean was right. He does know everything about us. But how? _Sam racked his drug-befuddled brain trying to recall if he'd ever noticed anyone watching them. _Why can't I think of anyone?_

"I can't wait to kill you, Sammy." Charlie's hand trembled as he lovingly caressed the knife. "Can't wait to hear you scream as I cut you apart piece by piece while your brother helplessly watches."

_I need to get away from him . . . need to get to Dean. But how? _Sam shuddered, uselessly trying to writhe against the binds, beads of sweat forming on his brow. _Dean, where are you? I need you._

Charlie poked the tip of the blade near the corner of Sam's right eye and Sam instantly stilled. "I think I'll start here first." Jerking the knife away, he shook his head. "No . . . not the eyes. If I did, you wouldn't be able to see the stark terror on Dean's face — couldn't have that." His low sinister laughter echoed in Sam's mind.

"I want to hear him beg for your life, Sammy — want him to scream as I tear you apart." Charlie paused and drew in a deep breath. "But most of all, I want to see the fear on his face before I murder you both."

Sam swallowed hard, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. _I won't let you hurt him. I'll kill you before I let you harm Dean. _

"Are you afraid, Sammy?" Charlie asked, his voice just above a whisper, a faint hint of pleasure in his tone.

_The man's a freakin psycho, Sammy. Don't let him get inside your head. _Sam heard Dean's voice inside his mind.

_I won't let him do this to me. Won't let him win._ Sam gave a curt shake of his head, glowering at Charlie.

"Liar," the stalker chided. "You wear your emotions like other people wear their clothes. And the look on your face right now tells me you are absolutely terrified — it's why I choose to kill you first. Let's just call it instant gratification." He hesitated, a glint of pure evil in his eyes. "But Dean . . . Dean is a prize. A diamond in the rough, you might say. Of all the people I've killed, I think I will enjoy him the most."

Charlie lifted Sam's hospital gown and sliced through the thin material with the scalpel, exposing Sam's chest. Sam breathed hard against the gag covering his mouth as Charlie traced a path from his throat to his navel, the knife lightly scratching his skin. "I think I'll cut Dean wide open and watch his innards spill to the floor. What do you think, Sammy? Doesn't that sound like fun?"

_I'm gonna kill you, you sonuvabitch. _Sam desperately tried to free himself, lax muscles straining ineffectually against the bed railings. _Oh God, come on, just a little help here. _He lifted his head a few inches off the bed, then it fell back to rest on the pillow, his mind swimming, vision blurring.

The knife dug into the soft flesh of his belly. "Careful, Sammyboy, I wouldn't want the blade to accidentally slip and slice you open — yet." He shook his head, clucking his tongue in disappointment. "No, that would ruin all the beautiful plans I've fantasized about for so long."

Sam stilled, chest heaving and nostrils flaring.

"Ahhh . . . this has been fun, but I really must be going before Dean comes searching for you. No doubt he's arguing with the doctors right now because they haven't let him see you yet."

Charlie reached in his pocket and pulled out a black permanent marker, jerked off the cap, bent and scrawled something on Sam's chest. He put the marker away and then reverently placed two blue-tinged human fingers on Sam's stomach. He gestured to them. "Such a shame," he tsked. "Those are from the boys you and your brother forced me to kill last night. They would be alive right now if you hadn't tried to run from me."

Sam stared at the severed fingers, stomach churning, the acid rising in his throat. _Oh God, I was right. It was our fault. They're dead because of us. _He screamed against the gag, trying to call Dean's name over and over again.

"He can't hear you." Charlie gloated as he grabbed Sam by the hair and cut off a chunk of it. "I've given you something belonging to me, so it's only fair you give me something of yours in return — sort of a memento of our time together." He chuckled.

Charlie strode to the door, kneading the lock of Sam's hair between his fingers. He turned to look at Sam. "I'll see you soon, Sammy. Tell Dean I said hello."

xXx

Dean's long determined strides carried him through the corridor toward his brother's room. _Damn hospital making me wait so long to see Sammy. You'd think the place was Fort Knox_ _for all the freakin security they have. _

He brushed past a doctor headed in the opposite direction. A sudden chill spread up the length of his spine. Dean turned to stare at the man casually strolling down the hallway. His eyes narrowed as the doctor disappeared around the corner. He scratched his head, puzzled by his reaction to the stranger. _That was freakin odd. _

Picking up his pace, Dean found Sam's room. He stood with his hand on the door and glanced toward the spot where he'd bumped into the man. Cocking a brow, he shook his head. _I'm so getting paranoid._

Dean entered the room, stopping short when he saw the gag on Sam's mouth and the look of terror in his brother's big hazel eyes. "Oh God, Sammy!" He rushed to his brother's side and carefully peeled off the duct tape on Sam's mouth and wrists. "You okay? Who did this to you?"

Sam trembled, rubbing his wrists, tears spilling down his pale cheeks. "I-I don't know, Dean . . . couldn't see his face."

"Was he dressed like a doctor?"

Sam nodded.

"Sonuvabitch." Dean slammed the heel of his hand against the railing. "I saw him, Sammy . . . I knew I should've followed him. Damn it, why didn't I go after him?" He turned and glared at the closed door. "I have to go and find him."

"No, I just want to leave, Dean." Sam hesitated, drawing in a staggering breath, he continued, "Before he hurts someone else because of us."

"But — "

"Please. Can't we just go?" Sam glanced at him, sad eyes begging for him to understand. "I can't have anyone else die because of me."

Dean stared at him for several seconds, then nodded. "Okay, Sammy. We'll leave as soon as you can travel."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam turned his head and stared out the window. Sam's body trembled as he choked on a sob.

Dean stared at his brother, not knowing what to do or say. He laid a protective hand on Sam's shoulder. "It'll be okay. I promise. I swear to you, I won't let him hurt anyone else."

Dean glared at the message written on his brother's chest and the two severed fingers.

_Sorry I missed you, Dean. Remember, anytime, anywhere . . . Sammy first then you. _

_I'm so gonna kill you, you sonuvabitch. . . ._


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to everyone for sticking with the story so far...hope you're enjoying!! thanks for all the awesome reviews!! What can I say, I live for them!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Four_

Dean looked up from cleaning his guns, took a sidelong glance at Sam and sighed deeply. Sam lay on the motel room bed with his back to Dean, shivering even though he was bundled under several covers. _It's been almost two weeks, why won't he just tell me what that freakin' psycho said to him? And now he's sick on top of everything else._

Setting his .45 on the bedside table, Dean stood and strode to Sam's bed, sat beside him, and felt Sam's forehead to see if he still had a fever. Dean frowned. _A little warmer than the last time, and we're out of aspirin. Just freakin great._ _Now we have to go out. _He nudged Sam on the shoulder. A low groan escaped Sam's parched lips as he pulled the blankets tighter around his lanky frame.

"Wanna get something to eat, Sammy?"

Sam shifted in the bed to stare at Dean with glassy, red-rimmed eyes."Not hungry." He coughed spasmodically, clutching his chest.

"Dude, you gotta eat. You're gonna make yourself sicker."

"M'tired, Dean." Sam rolled over, his back once again to Dean.

"You wanna talk about it?" Dean asked, for what must have been the hundredth time in so many days.

"Just wanna sleep," Sam mumbled, coughing again.

Dean stood and paced back and forth in the small expanse, fists tightly clenched, anger growing with each passing turn. _This is ridiculous. Why won't he just talk to me? Hell, usually I can't shut him up when it comes to caring and sharing time. _

"Sam?"

"Hmm. . . ."

"What did he say to you?"

"Already told ya," Sam said, not bothering to look at Dean.

"Think I would've remembered if you had."

Sam turned and propped himself up on his elbows. "What the hell do you think he said, Dean? Hey sorry about that gunshot wound, Sammyboy, hope it doesn't hurt like a sonuvabitch — the man's a freakin' psycho."

"Just askin', Sammy, no need to bite my freakin' head off."

Sam scrubbed his hand across his pale face, sighing in frustration. "He — he just didn't care, Dean. He killed those guys and it didn't even bother him. What kind of person does that?"

"I dunno, but I think we have to find and stop him before he hurts anyone else."

"Why, Dean — why does it always have to be our job? I mean, it's not like he's a demon."

"Are you sure? Really sure cause — "

A sudden rap on the door, stopped Dean from continuing what he was saying. Both boys looked at each other and then to where the sound came from.

"He wouldn't . . ." Sam hesitated, tearing his gaze away from the door to stare at his brother, and Dean could see the look of fear in his brother's eyes.

_Damn it, Sammy, what did he do to you? _Dean quirked a brow and shrugged. "No, I don't think he would be that stupid." He stalked to the bedside table and grabbed his gun. He was about to head for the door when his cell phone rang. Snatching the phone off the table, Dean jabbed the button. "Hello?"

"Ain't ya gonna answer the door, Dean?" came a taunting reply from the other end of the line. "You're not afraid are you?"

"I've never been afraid of anything, you sonuvabitch. And I'll be damned if I start now."

"Ah, good thing, I didn't want to be wrong about you. So answer the door," Charlie challenged.

Another knock on the door, had Dean gesturing to Sam to get a weapon of his own. He pulled the phone away from his ear, covering it with his hand. "Sam," he called to his brother in a near whisper. "Take the .45, go in the bathroom, lock the door, and don't come out no matter what till I tell you to."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean cut him off. "I'm serious, Sammy. You're sick and still recovering from surgery, so just do what I say."

Glaring at Dean for a moment, Sam grabbed the gun and slowly eased himself off the bed, wincing as he stood on shaky legs. He lumbered to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind him.

Dean's grip on the phone tightened as he put it back to his ear. "You still there?"

"Of course, Dean." Charlie laughed.

"Good. If you ever come near my brother again, I swear to God, it will be the last thing you ever do."

"You'd have to find me first . . . now open the door before I'm forced to do something to really get your attention."

Dean edged his way to the window, gun raised, finger on the trigger. Pulling back the curtains, Dean peered at the twenty-something year old man standing outside. _What the — ? Why the hell is that kid delivering us flowers? _

As if to answer Dean's unasked question, Charlie said, "Heard Sammy was feeling a bit under the weather, thought flowers might cheer him up."

"You're out of your freakin mind if you think I'm gonna accept them."

"Awww . . . now that would just hurt my feelings, Dean."

"Too damn bad." Dean released his grip on the curtains and was about to turn when he heard the ominous click-click of a rifle being racked.

"If you don't accept them, I'll have to assume the delivery boy didn't do his job," Charlie's tone turned deadly. "Such a shame he was such a nice kid."

_He wouldn't really kill someone in broad daylight . . . would he?_ "Where the hell are you?"

"Let's just say, I'm close enough to see you through the scope of my rifle, but not so close that you'd ever be able to get to me in time."

"Why don't you face me like a man, you freakin coward."

"Tick-tock tick-tock, Dean, time is running out for poor Frankie," Charlie said, ignoring Dean's insult. "Are you gonna accept my gift or is he gonna have to die?"

"All right, goddamn it." Dean hid his gun in his waistband, grabbed the door handle and forcefully yanked it open.

The young man stood holding the flowers, shivering and shuffling his feet through the snow. "Got a delivery for a Sam Winchester."

"I'll take them." Dean said, peering beyond the freckle-faced boy into the wooded area skirting the motel.

"You Sam?"

"No, I'm his brother."

"I'm supposed to give them to him."

"I said, I'll take them," Dean nearly shouted, at the end of his patience.

"I could get in a lot of trouble for this, the man who ordered them was very specific; he wanted them to delivered to Sam and no one else."

"It'll be all right, Sam will get them."

The delivery boy hesitated for a moment, then handed them to Dean.

"Dean, don't forget to tip him." Charlie chuckled. "The poor boy had a hard day, his girlfriend dumped him."

Dean jerked the phone away from his ear and stared incredulously at it. "If you think I'm gonna — "

"If you don't, I'll have to assume Frankie didn't do his job properly — you really wouldn't want that to happen, trust me."

_Sonuvabitch. _Dean yanked his wallet out of his back pocket. "Here." He handed Frankie his last ten dollars.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever, dude. Just do me a favor, the next time someone asks you to deliver flowers to a motel, do us all a favor and say no."

Frankie gave him a quizzical look. "Huh?"

"Nothin. Forget it."

"All right. Have a good day." He turned and trudged through the drifting snow to his white delivery van with the name _A Rose by Any Other Name Florists _painted on the side, got in, started the engine and drove away.

"Now that wasn't so tough was it?" Charlie asked. "You may have just saved his life. Too bad about his brother though — he screamed like a little girl, Dean. You should've heard him." He paused to take a breath, and then continued in the same sardonic tone. "I wonder if Frankie cared as much for his brother as you do for Sam? What do you think?""

Dean clenched his teeth, the muscle in his cheek jerking erratically. "You didn't — "

"Ahhh . . . yes I did." Charlie's maniacal laughter echoed through the phone line. "Cut off his ring finger after I sliced his throat open — only thing now is I only have one. I need two — have to have a set. Hmmm . . . I think Frankie will have to die after all."

"You sonuva — "

The phone went dead.

"What was that all about?" came the sound of Sam's voice from directly behind Dean, and Dean jumped.

"Thought I told you to stay in the bathroom?" Dean said, his tone sounded harsher than he'd intended. Without turning to face his brother, he added, "It would've been nice, if for once, you'd done as I asked." _Can't tell Sammy about this. Can't have him blaming himself for more people dying._ Dean took a deep breath, and tried to school his features. His grip tightened on the vase of flowers. _Come on, Dean, pull it together. Don't let him do this to you._

"It was too quiet out here. Besides, not much a person can do in a bathroom to keep himself occupied." Sam eased himself onto the small couch and let out a low groan. "So what did he say?"

Dean swung to face Sam, setting the flowers onto the small coffee table beside the couch. "Apparently, creepy guy, thought you could use flowers."

Sam's face paled as he stared at the floral arrangement. He leaned forward, drawing in a shaky breath. Hands trembling, Sam grabbed the ornately designed, silver cross out of the center. "H-he couldn't — it's not possible."

"Sammy, what is it?" Dean knelt next to Sam and looked at the cross his brother held.

A tear slipped down Sam's cheek. "It was Madison's."

"It can't be."

"It is, Dean. I saw it hanging in her bedroom when we — " Sam's voice hitched, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "When we were there."

"That sonuvabitch." Dean turned his head to glare at the door then lowered it to stare at the flowers.

He snatched the envelope attached to the vase, ripped it open and yanked out two pictures and a note. The first photo was of Sam as he slept in the hospital totally unaware he was being photographed, a black X slashed through his face. Dean flipped to the second one and his breath caught in his throat. _That sick bastard. _

"What is it, Dean?"

Dean glanced at Sam, and shook his head, "Nothin', Sammy."

Sam held out his hand. "Let me see it."

"You don't want to see it, dude."

"Give it to me."

_Damn it, Sammy, why won't you just believe me. _Reluctantly, Dean handed the picture to Sam.

Sam's face crumpled as he looked at the picture of Madison lying dead on her livingroom floor, dried blood trailing down her shirt and covering the floor.

Above the image of her body, Charlie had scrawled,_ Bravo, Sammy, looks like I'm not the only murder._

Dean watched as a myriad of painful emotions played across his brother's features, waiting for Sam to break. _Damn it, why didn't he wait like I asked? I could've hid those freakin pictures. _

"Sam?"

Coughing hard, Sam hunched, hugging his chest. Sam squeezed his eyes closed as he drew in a staggering breath. After several seconds, he opened them to stare glassy-eyed at Dean. "He's right. I'm no better than he is," he muttered in a hoarse whisper.

"What the hell are you talkin' about? You're not like him, Sammy."

Brushing away a stray tear sliding down his cheek, Sam looked at the picture of Madison and then his gaze fixed on Dean. "I killed her . . . I killed Steve Wondell. What makes me any better than him?"

_What the hell am I supposed to say to him? How can I make him see he's not the same as this whack job? _Dean furrowed his brow, pursing his lips as he glared at the picture in his brother's hand. _And how does this monster know all the right buttons to push to get to Sammy? _"Dude, you said it yourself earlier, this guy just doesn't care. He killed those guys and it didn't even bother him — the Sammy I know would never intentionally hurt anyone. You gotta believe me, little brother, you're nothing like him."

"Are you sure, Dean? Really sure — "

"Yeah, Sammy. I've never been more sure of anything in my whole life."

Sam gave a curt nod, accepting Dean's answer. "What are we gonna do about him?"

"I dunno."

Dean opened the letter from Charlie and quickly skimmed it and then reread it, shaking his head in disbelief . . . .

_Dean,_

_You have thirty-six hours to find me. Thirty-six hours till Frankie dies._ _Let's see if you and Sammy can do in that short time what the FBI has failed to do for the past ten years. But don't let me catch you first. The clock starts now — Tick-tock, tick-tock . . . . _

_Two-finger Charlie_

Dean stared at the note for a moment longer, then ripped the letter into shreds. _Oh, hell yeah, I'm gonna find you, and God help you when I do. _

"Sam, get your laptop. We're going hunting. . . ."


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to everyone who is sticking with my story so far...hope you enjoy this chapter...if you do, please review it!! i love to know if i'm doing okay as far as the boys are concerned!! thanks again bambers;)_

_Chapter Five_

Charlie knelt beside the boy sitting in a chair. The boy's head slumped to the side, dried blood ran the length of his lean frame; a puddle of crimson covered the floor beneath the chair. Glancing from the dead boy to his terrified older brother, Charlie smiled. His grin faded as he remembered they were not the ones he wanted. _They'll do for now, _he placated himself, knowing it wouldn't be too long before the real fun began. _Ah, Sammyboy, what will it take to break you? Break you and Dean will crumble._

"Frankie," Charlie softly called to the frightened boy chained from the ceiling with bare feet skimming the cold cement floor of the underground bunker. "Look at poor little Joey, all ripped apart," he taunted as he lifted the dead boy's head so Frankie could have a better look at his brother's mutilated face. "You know this is Sam and Dean's fault, don't you? If they'd only played along, hadn't tried to run from me, your brother would still be alive."

Frankie jerked his head to the side away from the sight of his dead brother. The heavy manacles holding him prisoner, rattled as he struggled vainly to free himself, wrists rubbed raw from the iron shackles. He sobbed against the gag in his mouth, the muffled sound of it eliciting a maniacal laugh from Charlie.

"You're pathetic," Charlie scoffed as he stood and strode to Frankie's side. Cupping the boy's jaw in a steely grip, Charlie yanked it toward him so Frankie looked him dead in the eyes. "I would've never chosen you or your spineless brother."

He turned and strode to the far wall of the dark room and lit several candles, illuminating a veritable shrine to Sam and Dean. Pictures of the boys: hunting, eating, laughing, sleeping and fighting, littered the walls and covered the old wooden table the candles were set upon.

Snatching the hair he'd taken from Sam at the hospital from the table, and stared at it and then at Frankie, a slow devious smile spreading across his face. _Ah, Sammy, I know just the thing to bring you to your knees. _

Charlie picked up two pictures from the table and headed back to Frankie. He kneaded the hair between his fingers as he shoved the photo in Frankie's direction. "This — " He jabbed his index finger at the picture. "This is Sam Winchester. He's a cold-blooded killer. He should've died instead of Joey. It's his fault your brother died."

Flipping to the next picture, he thrust it under Frankie's nose. "And this is Dean, Sam's older brother — You're gonna die because Dean's protecting him."

Frankie glared at the photo of Dean and then at Charlie. Tears slipped down his dirt-streaked face.

"Do you hate Sam?"

Biting down hard against the gag, Frankie stared at the picture of Sam and nodded.

"Do you want me to kill him?"

Frankie closed his eyes, lowered his head and refused to respond.

"You will." Eying the terrified boy, Charlie leaned forward and whispered in Frankie's ear, "I promise before I'm finished with you, you'll be begging me to kill him instead of you."

Stepping away from the boy, Charlie turned and walked to the table. He set the pictures and Sam's hair down, picked up a deadly looking curved dagger and a scalpel, and swung to face Frankie. "Knife or scalpel? Which would you prefer?"

Frankie yanked against the restraints, trying desperately to get away. Grabbing the heavy chains, he tugged on them forcefully. Bits of dust and dirt broke free from the ceiling and showered down on him, but the bonds held fast.

The muffled sound of his crying, spurned Charlie on. "If I were you, I'd conserve my strength for what's coming." Charlie set the knife on the table and lifted the scalpel so it caught the glint of light coming from the candle flames. "Cuts through skin like butter."

He menacingly stalked toward Frankie, blade raised, a demonic glint in his eyes. He ripped off Frankie's gag. "This may hurt a bit, feel free to scream — no one will hear you."

Charlie slowly dragged the razor-sharp blade down the length of Frankie's arm. Ear-piercing screams ripped from Frankie's lips as blood dripped freely from his arm, quickly soaking through his long-sleeved shirt. Charlie grabbed hold of Frankie's hand, gripped onto his ring finger and snapped the bone backward, cutting it off with the scalpel.

"St-stop . . . ," Frankie sobbed, shying away from Charlie. "Plea — "

"Oh, Frankie, I'm afraid we're just getting started."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Find anything yet?" Dean asked, peering over Sam's shoulder at the computer screen. "Hmm . . . not bad, Sammy, hacking into the FBI database. So totally illegal, didn't think you had it in you."

"Whatever, dude." Sam's fingers danced across the keyboard as he deftly navigated the site, searching for anything pertaining to Two-Finger Charlie. "Got it," Sam managed to get out before coughing repeatedly, sharp pain stabbing at his chest. His face turned ashen white, lips tinged blue as he struggled to catch his breath.

"You okay?" Dean sat beside him and felt his forehead. "Damn it, Sammy, you're burnin' up. When's the last time you took the antibiotics the doctor gave you?"

"About a week ago — lost them. Just been taking Vicodin for the pain."

"When were you planning on telling me you lost them."

"Actually wasn't planning on telling you." Sam looked at Dean briefly then returned his attention to the computer. His brows drew together as he read page after page of information on Charlie. He stopped short when he thought he'd recognized two names on the list of people Charlie was suspected of murdering. "Jake and Mark Derringer — those names sound familiar to you?"

Dean scratched the back of his head. "Didn't Dad know a Harvey Derringer who had two sons by those names?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought. But those are the only two I recognize on the list." Sam leaned closer to the computer, squinting, tired eyes blurring while he stared at the screen. "Apparently, Charlie stalks his prey, learning everything about them before torturing and murdering them."

"Why would he choose us?"

"I dunno, Dean, best guess is we all have something in common."

"Maybe all his victims are hunters?"

Glancing at his brother, Sam let out a deep frustrated sigh. "There's over a hundred names on this list, dating as far back as February 1996. They can't all be hunters."

Dean scrubbed his hand across his face as he looked from Sam to the list. "Maybe not all hunters like us, but what if they were all people who hunted?"

Sam thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay. If they're hunters, they'd need weapons, right? So maybe Charlie works at a gun shop?"

"Naw, I don't think so." Dean pursed his lips, as he continued to stare at the names and locations of each murder. "He murdered people all over the country so I'm figurin' he'd have to have a job that would keep him mobile."

"Or — " Sam doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath.

"Sam?" Dean pushed back damp strands of Sam's hair, a look of concern etched on his face. "You okay, dude?" He rubbed Sam's back as Sam continued to wheeze and shudder. "Damn it, Sammy, you probably have freakin' pneumonia. Why the hell didn't you just tell me you lost your medicine?"

"D-didn't want you — "Another round of deep racking coughs, stopped Sam mid-sentence. When they eased up, Sam leaned back and drew in shallow breaths. "Wa– water," he said in a shaky voice.

Dean hurried to the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a glass, and handed it to Sam. "We need to get you to a doctor."

"M'okay." Sam cleared his throat, wincing at the raw burning sensation. "Need to find Frankie."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam held up his hand to stop him. "We're running out of time, Dean."

"I know, but you're in no shape for this."

"I was thinking hunters have to register their weapons," Sam said, ignoring Dean's comment. "So maybe he chooses his victims from the database?"

"Seems kinda random and besides, we don't register ours."

Sam jabbed his finger toward a name on the computer screen. "Maybe we can talk to this guy, Thomas Porter. He's a profiler for the FBI and has been working on Charlie's case for the past ten years."

"Guess it's worth a shot, you got an address?"

Sam typed in Thomas' name, and within a moment his file came up on the screen. "Yeah, he lives about three hours from here."

"We don't have that much time, Sam."

"I know, but it's the only thing we've got to go on right now."

Dean paced back and forth, his gaze never strayed from Sam for more than a second. "All right, get dressed. We'll swing by the flower shop Frankie worked at first though. Who knows, maybe the place had a security camera, and the sonuvabitch got caught on it."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Charlie grabbed Frankie by the hair, yanked his head back, and raised a cruel-looking metal weapon with four dagger-sharp curved prongs attached to a handle. "You'll appreciate this, Frankie." He chuckled. "It's called a Spanish Tickler . . . very old school torture device."

Frankie fearfully eyed the weapon Charlie held in his hand. "N-no . . . please." He choked on a sob, blood trickling from his parched lips. "C-can't t-take anymore."

"Back in the day, they used it to rip the flesh from the bone," Charlie went on to say as if he hadn't heard Frankie's plea. Trailing the sharp prongs across Frankie's chest, Charlie smirked as the young man cried in pain. "Why are you here, Frankie?"

"S-sam."

Charlie dug the pokers into the soft flesh of Frankie's chest, blood dripping from the deep gashes. "Say it again," he ordered.

Wincing, Frankie cried, "Sam."

Raking the prongs downward through the terrified boy's skin, Charlie ask, "Do you blame him for this?"

The boy nodded, more tears spilled from his red-rimmed eyes.

Charlie leaned closer to Frankie. "Do you want me to kill him?"

"Y-yes."

"Good, then tell him."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam slowly yanked his flannel shirt over his shoulders and was about to button it when his cell phone rang. He looked from the phone to the bathroom where Dean was taking a quick shower and then his gaze fixed on the phone. _Maybe I shouldn't answer it. He's just gonna try to mess with my mind again._

By the third ring, Sam couldn't take it anymore. Reaching over, he snatched the cell off the bedside table and hit the button to take the call. "Hello?" he growled into the phone.

"S-sa — " came a weak, garbled response. "Ss-am."

"Frankie?" Sam shot to his feet. A deep groan escaped his lips as spasmodic torrents of pain ripped through his backside. Eyes squinched shut, Sam took slow deliberate breaths until the ache subsided. "Frankie, is that you?"

"Kk-illed my br-brother."

Sam's head jerked back to glare at the bathroom door. _Damn it, Dean. Why the hell didn't you tell me, Frankie had a brother. _His grip tightened on the phone. "Frankie, we're gonna find you. I swear to God, we'll save you." Sam could hear the terrified boy's slow heavy breathing, and anguished cries of pain along with the sound of someone laughing in the background. "You gotta promise you'll hang on for me."

"Yy-your fault, S-sam — Joey d-died cause of y-you."

_No, it can't be my fault. _Sam's knees buckled and he collapsed onto the mattress, body trembling. His stomach churned violently as what Frankie had said sunk in. _Charlie murdered him because of me._

"I'm so sorry, Frankie."

"Frankie isn't here anymore, Sammyboy," came Charlie's sardonic voice. "Afraid the poor boy passed out."

"Why the hell are you doing this?"

"Because I can — and hell, it's fun."

"Let him go, this is between us."

Charlie laughed. "I'll make a deal with you, Sam. If you come alone, I'll let him go."

Jerking the phone away from his ear, Sam stared at it and shook his head in disbelief. "You're lying."

"Are you willing to have another person's death on your conscience to find out if I am?" Charlie challenged. "Cause if you are, I'll slice him open right now so you can hear him scream as he dies."

_I can't let him die. Can't have someone else die because of me. _"Tell me where to meet you."

"Ah, I knew you wouldn't let Frankie down," Charlie gloated triumphantly. He went on to explain where to meet and when he was finished, he warned, "I'll be watching and if I see any signs of your brother, I'll slit Frankie's throat before you're even in the door."

The phoneline went dead.

_Damn it Dean, you should've told me about Joey. Should've known you couldn't keep it from me. _Sam stood on shaky legs, grabbed his coat and gun and headed for the entrance, looking back at the bathroom door. _Sorry, Dean, I can't let him die. _


	6. Chapter 6

_So, yeah, this chapter took a long time to write and really took an unexpected turn, but i think it works for the story!! hope everyone enjoys...reviews are golden!! thanks again for reading, bambers;)_

_Chapter Six_

Sam sat, nervously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel of the Chevy Cavalier he'd stolen from the motel parking lot._ Dean had better find the note I left for him in the Impala or I'm so screwed. _He squinted to get a better look at the turn-of-the-century whitewashed farmhouse, he'd parked in front of. _Yeah, this definitely ranks up there as one of the dumbest things I've ever done. Dean is so gonna kick my ass._

Thick grayish-brown vines snaked the walls of the dilapidated home, fresh snow clinging to the dark green ivy. Tattered curtain remnants poked through the broken windows, and were held aloft on the stiff breeze. Broken shutters swung back and forth in the wind, banging against the farmhouse.

_Yep, leave it to a psychopathic killer to pick the creepiest, most remote house possible, to torture his victims in. _

He climbed out of the car and carefully shut the door so as not to alert Charlie of his arrival. Raising his gun, Sam cautiously headed for the house, trudging through knee-high snow. Slowly walking up the stairs, Sam reached the landing of the large deck encompassing the farmhouse. Sam pushed open the old rickety door, and cocked his head to the side to get a better look inside.

A thick layer of dust covered the old plank floors, and although Sam could see scurrying tracks left behind by mice, there was no sign a human had been in the house for many years. He looked to the left and saw an old stone fireplace in what he assumed used to be the livingroom at one time.

Taking a tentative step inside, Sam heard the floorboard's creek ominously, and felt the rotting wood give way underfoot. Dust particles scattered through the musty air and filled Sam's lungs. Coughing hard, Sam braced himself against the doorframe, gasping for breath.

Sam wiped his hand across his fevered brow, trembling as the coughing spell dissipated. _This was so not a good idea. _He turned and walked back down the stairs and headed for the backyard._ There has to be a better way into the house, one that doesn't involve me falling through the floor and breaking my neck._

XxXxXxXxXxX

Dean sat in the Impala, rereading Sam's note for a third time, noting the coordinates Sam left for him and scowled. _What the hell was he thinking? I'm so gonna kick his ass for this. _

Snatching his cell phone from his pocket, Dean jabbed the button to call Sam again. _You'd better damn well answer this time. _

After the second ring, Sam answered.

"Dean?"

"Sammy, get your ass back here now!" Dean shouted into the phone.

"He's not here, Dean," Sam said, ignoring Dean's order. "I've almost finished searching the whole damn place, and can't find any sign of him."

Dean cocked a quizzical brow, puzzlement warring with immense relief. "I don't give a rat's ass if he's there or not, you get back here now . . . and if you ever pull a stupid stunt like this again, you won't have to worry about some crazed lunatic cause I'll kill ya myself."

"Can't Dea — " Sam stopped speaking abruptly, and Dean could hear his deep racking cough from the other end of the line. When Sam spoke again, his voice was weak and trembling. "There's an old barn out back. Just gonna check it out before I leave."

"Wait for me, Sam, we'll search the place together." Dean turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared. "I can be there in about fifteen minutes."

"I can't Dean, Charlie warned if he saw you, he'd slit Frankie's throat before we ever had a chance to save him."

Dean scrubbed his hand across his face, growling in frustration. "Damn it, Sammy. Can't you see, it doesn't matter what you do, Charlie is still gonna murder Frankie? Don't get yourself killed trying to save him alone — "

"Gotta try, Dean," Sam said, cutting Dean off. "Can't let him die because of me . . . ." The phone line went dead.

Dean was about to back the car out of his parking spot when a dark blue sedan pulled in back of the Impala and blocked his exit. Red and blue flashing lights came on inside the car.

"Sonuvabitch."

A middle-aged man in a dark suit, stepped out of the undercover police cruiser, drew his gun, and strode to the Impala. Tapping on the window with the .45, he gestured for Dean to get out of the car.

Killing the engine, Dean opened the door and reluctantly got out.

"Dean Winchester?" the man said in a deep, rich voice.

"Who wants to know?" Dean eyed the man, pointing the gun at his chest.

"Name's Agent Smith, and I'm here to bring you in for the murders of Dan Forthright and Greg Turner."

Dean furrowed his brow, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Who the hell are Dan Forthright and Greg Turner?"

"You are also to be held in questioning for the disappearance of Frankie and Joey Desmond," Agent Smith went on to say, ignoring Dean's question.

Dean opened his mouth to speak then slammed it shut and stared at the man incredulously. He shook his head in disbelief. "You so gotta be kiddin me."

"Afraid not, Sir. Now if you'll just come with me — "

"Look," Dean cut him off, "I'd love to just sit around here chatting with you, but I really need to be somewhere right now, so get the hell outta my way."

The muscle in the man's cheek twitched, a mirthless grin creeping onto his face. His finger tightened on the trigger of his gun, dark brown eyes narrowing menacingly. "I don't want to have to shoot you, but never doubt for a second that I will. Now turn around, put your hands behind your back so I can cuff you. Do- I- make- myself - clear?"

"I'm telling you, you got the wrong guy." Dean tried to reason with the older man.

"I said, turn around. I won't say it again." Agent Smith pointed the gun at Dean's heart. "I've read your file, Dean. I'm well aware of what you're capable of doing, so no one would blame me if I had to shoot you."

Dean glared at the man for a moment longer, then turned around and placed his hands behind his back. "You're making a huge mistake," he called over his shoulder.

"I don't think so," the officer said, snapping the cuffs in place and tightening them.

Agent Smith grabbed Dean by the arm and forced him to walk to the sedan. Opening the back door, he roughly shoved Dean onto the backseat of the police car. He then stalked to the Impala snatched the keys from the ignition and headed for the trunk.

Popping the hood, Agent Smith leaned in and searched through the weapons, grabbing Dean's knife along with the envelope Charlie had left in there for them. He yanked the pictures out of the envelope, and studied them briefly. Stalking back to the car, he lifted them so Dean could see.

"Wrong guy, eh?" he said, in a cocky tone. "Then try explaining these to me."

Dean swallowed hard, knowing how incriminating the pictures appeared. "They're not mine."

"Oh, then they belong to your brother, Sam?"

"You leave him out of this," Dean growled. "He hasn't done anything."

"So, they are yours then?" Agent Smith smirked.

"No."

"Doesn't really matter if they are or not . . . they'd be enough evidence to warrant the death penalty in at least five states."

Agent Smith pocketed the pictures, and palmed something else in his hand. Grabbing hold of Dean's jacket, Agent Smith yanked Dean toward him. "But, I have other plans for you."

Before Dean could think to react, Agent Smith jabbed a needle into the side of Dean's neck, injecting a sedative into his veins. He cocked a sardonic brow, smirking at Dean. "Really had you going there, didn't I, Dean?" He laughed manically. "Should've seen the look on your face when I told you I'd shoot you point-blank in the chest."

Dean blinked hard, the sedative already beginning to take effect. "Ch-charlie," he stammered.

"That's right, give the boy a prize."

"D-don't understand." Dean shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness creeping into his mind.

"Didn't think you would." Charlie slid into the seat next to Dean, and gripped a hold of Dean's jaw, fingernails biting into Dean's skin. "In any good game, strategy is key. If your opponent thinks you're turning left, you turn right — If you think I'm going after Sam . . . I go after you instead. Simple."

Yanking Dean's knife from his pocket, Charlie ran it down the length of Dean's face and neck, the blade slicing through the soft flesh of Dean's throat.

"So gonna kill you," Dean hissed, his heavy eyelids fluttering open and closed.

"Yeah, you seem to say that a lot, don't you Dean?" Charlie let go of Dean's jaw, leapt out of the backseat, and shut the door.

Charlie eased behind the wheel of the sedan, slammed the door, and swung to look at Dean. "Don't worry about Sammy . . . he'll be joining us very soon."

"Y-you sonuva — "

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam had just finished checking the barn when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, saw Dean's name, and hit the button.

"Hey, Dean, didn't find anything. I'm heading back now."

Sam stopped short when he heard soft mirthless laughter on the other end of the line.

"Didn't think you would Sammyboy, but thanks for drawing Dean out into the open for me."

Sam's heart leapt into his throat at the sound of Charlie's voice coming from Dean's phone.

"Where's my brother," Sam choked out. "You hurt him and so help me, God, there won't be a place you can hide, that I can't find you."

"Awww . . . Sammy, is that anyway to talk to the man who holds you brother's life within his hands."

"Where the hell are you, you sonuvabitch!"

"In due time . . . in due time. I promise. Right now, however, I'm enjoying torturing Dean too much to put an end to the game — Dean, say hello to your brother."

The line went silent for a moment, and then he heard heavy breathing.

"S-sammy," came Dean's breathless response.

"Dean!"

"D-don't let him win, S-sam. Don't let h-him catch you."

'I'm gonna find you, Dean, I swear to God I will."

Sam heard a soft click and then the dial tone.

"Dean . . . Dean!"


	7. Chapter 7

_Okay, Chapter seven updated...gotta warn ya it is pretty gruesome or at least i think so...so you've been warned...and seeing as so many people are asking for more chapters, i guess you're all as demented as i am for writing about Charlie!! lol!! hope everyone enjoys!! cookies for reviews!!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Seven_

"Dean," came Charlie's deceptively calm voice from directly behind the spot where Dean was bound to a chair. Charlie gripped Dean's shoulders, leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Aw . . . come on, I know you're awake. Don't make me have to prove I'm right."

Dean opened one eye briefly then squinched it shut. His temples throbbed mercilessly from the blow he'd received trying to escape as Charlie dragged him into the underground bunker. Taking a deep breath, Dean gagged, his stomach churning violently as the scent of rotting flesh intermingling with putrid mold, assailed his senses.

"Come on, Dean, I'm dying to hear one of those witty little bits of sarcasm you're always spewing." Charlie grabbed a fistful of Dean's scruffy hair and forcefully yanked his head backwards. Lightly pressing a sharp blade against Dean's throat, Charlie slowly dragged it across Dean's neck, blood oozing from the shallow wound. "Call me a sonuvabitch . . . tell me how you're gonna kill me — how you're gonna save Sammy."

Letting out a low hiss through gritted teeth, Dean cocked his head to the side and glared at him, remaining silent. _No freakin way you sonuvabitch._

"Ah, the strong silent type. You know, that's what I like about you, Dean." Charlie chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "Frankie, over there," he gestured toward the boy in chains, and continued, "he would've been squealing like a pig, if I'd threatened to slice his throat open. But not you — no . . . you're special. That's why I'm gonna love killing you."

_Sammy, you'd better be using your geekboy computer skills to track my cell phone or I'm so screwed._

Charlie moved to stand in front of Dean. Digging the tip of the knife into the soft flesh under Dean's chin, Charlie forced Dean to look up at him. "Wanna play a game, Dean?"

Dean swallowed hard as the blade dug deeper into his skin.

"I'll take no response to mean you do want to play." Turning abruptly, Charlie stalked toward Frankie.

"The rules are simple, and being a sporting man, I'll even bet you win." He grabbed Frankie by his long shaggy blonde hair, jerked his head backwards, and held the knife to his throat. "Either you answer me when I speak to you or Frankie here's gonna need an awfully large blood transfusion."

Frankie's heart-wrenching sobs and Charlie's malicious laughter echoed through the expansive underground dwelling, and filled Dean's heart with dread.

"Feel like talking now, Dean?"

"Leave him alone, you sonuvabitch," Dean growled through clenched teeth.

"Ah, I knew you'd be good at this . . . and now for sudden death." Charlie pressed the knife into the hollow at the base of Frankie's neck, and Frankie let out a pitiful yelp. "I'm gonna bet I know what you were thinking while you were brooding."

"Why don't you just let him go?" Dean yanked at the tight restraints holding him captive, to no avail. "You wanted me — you got me."

"I believe you were hoping Sammyboy would be tracking your cell through GPS — think Sam can find me before I find him." Charlie asked, ignoring Dean. "Am I right?"

Dean glared at him, the muscle in his cheek jerking. _Damn it, I should've known that's how he's been tracking us._

"I said — am I right?" Arching a bushy black brow, Charlie stared intently at Dean, his grip tightened around the handle of the knife and sliced into the trembling boy's skin, blood seeping from the wound.

"No."

"Liar."

Frankie screamed as the knife Charlie wielded, cut deeper into his flesh.

"Sorry, Frankie, but Dean's not telling the truth so I guess you lose." Charlie turned the blade so the tip faced Frankie, jerked his hand back poised to plunge it into the boy's throat.

Dean eyed the crazed man for a split second, before growling out, "Yes, damn it — that's what I was thinking. Now let him go."

Charlie lowered the weapon, a triumphant glint in his eyes. "Yeah, Sammy is pretty damn smart, probably already hot on your trail."

Dean's stomach twisted into a tight knot, a sick feeling that Charlie had already anticipated what Sam would do. _Damn it, Sammy, don't let him get you too._

"But here's the fun part, Dean, and I know you'll appreciate this — he's gonna track your phone all the way to room twenty-two of the Rolling Hills Motel . . . four towns away from the motel you were staying at." Charlie's gaze turned deadly. "No, your precious Sammy, isn't gonna find you, Dean. Not until I'm good and ready to hunt him down and bring him here myself."

"You touch him, and so help me God, I'll — "

"You'll what?" Charlie said, cutting Dean off. "You'll kill me." Pursing his pale thin lips, Charlie gave a curt shake of his head and laughed. "Forgive me for saying, but from where I'm standing, it doesn't appear as if you're much of a threat."

Dean cocked a brow, and glared at him. "That's the difference between you and me. I wouldn't need to drug and tie you up to kill you." Dean leaned as far forward as the restraints would allow, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "And if I'm not a real threat, let me go and see if I don't tear you apart, you sonuvabitch."

Charlie narrowed dark brown eyes, a bemused expression on his face. "Ah, Dean, I have no doubt you would try. We are so much a like, you and I — both cold-blood killers. Course, I prefer my victims to be of the living variety. Not much of a challenge to rekill something that's already been rotting in the ground for years."

"Yeah, try it sometime."

They eyed each other for several seconds before Charlie turned toward Frankie.

"Now where were we, Frankie. Ah, yes, sudden death — and I won." He turned to glare at Dean briefly. "Don't look away, Dean, or you'll miss the best part."

_Oh, Christ! Frankie. _Dean tugged viciously at the ropes, holding him prisoner, muscles straining against the tight binds, wrists raw and bleeding. _Come on, goddamn._

The young boy glanced in Dean's direction, blue eyes wide in terror. "H-help me," he pleaded, tears streaming down his freckled face. "Please. . . ."

"Oh, God, I'm tryin', Frankie . . . I'm tryin'." Dean yanked even harder on the ropes around his wrists, and desperately kicked out against the binds firmly tied around his ankles.

Frankie's ear-piercing scream filled the dark, dank room as Charlie swung back and plunged the knife into the boy's neck and forcefully jerked downward tearing through Frankie's chest. Frankie let out a garbled cry, blood gurgling in his throat and spilling from his lips.

Blood splattered to the floor, quickly pooling around the dead boy's still quivering body. Frankie's head rolled and slumped to the side. His eyes frozen open in stark terror.

Charlie turned to face Dean. Licking Frankie's blood from his lips, Charlie smiled, with an innately demonic glint in his eyes.

He stalked toward Dean, and stood beside him. Wiping the splattered blood from his face, Charlie grabbed Dean by the hair, and smeared Frankie's blood across Dean's lips.

"There's nothing like the feeling of another man's blood on your lips." Charlie shuddered in delight. "You can taste his fear, can't you, Dean? He reeked with it." He hesitated for a moment, a slow devious grin spreading across his face. "I wonder how Sammy's blood will taste after I've torn him apart."

"You sick sonuvabitch," Dean growled through clenched teeth.

"Maybe." Charlie trailed the bloodied knife, the length of Dean's face and downward to his chest. "I'm gonna kill him slowly as you watch. First, I'll break his bones and then I'll slice through his pretty little face."

"You won't get the chance." Dean breathed hard, his chest heaving, the muscles in his face twitching with scarcely controlled rage.

"Who's gonna stop me?" Charlie sliced into Dean's chest with the knife. Blood dripped from the deep gash, and quickly covered Dean's shirt. "You?"

"I'm so gonna kill you before you ever even get a chance to lay a finger on Sammy."

"Thanks for the warning." Charlie chuckled. "But now in all fairness, I'll have to do something to try and stop you, won't I?"

Charlie turned and stalked toward a table Dean hadn't noticed before. His breath caught in his throat when he'd noticed picture after picture of Sam and him. A sharp knife stuck out of one of the pictures of Sam.

A clump of dark hair rested on a small bottle of prescription pills. _Damn it, Sammy's antibiotics._ _How the hell did he get those?_

Charlie swung back and looked at Dean, then his gaze followed Dean's to the pills. "Sammy left them in the Impala when you went out to eat one night, so I took them . . . he really should be more careful with just leaving his stuff lying around. Never know who's gonna find it."

Setting the knife on the table, Charlie picked up a heavy-looking wooden mallet and headed back to Dean.

"Now you're right-handed, aren't you?"

Dean glared at the weapon and then his steely gaze fixed on Charlie, fists tightly clenching against the restraints. "Like I'm gonna tell you, you sonuvabitch."

Charlie scrubbed his free hand across his stumbled jaw. "Very well, if you don't tell me, I'll just have to break both your hands — although, I'll admit, it would've been more fun to give you a fighting chance, but if you'd rather I didn't — tell you what, I'll be fair and let you decide."

The muscle in Dean's jaw jerked as he uselessly writhed against the ropes. Dean continued to glare at the crazed man for a moment longer, weighing his options. _Either he breaks one hand or both . . . yeah, nice freakin options. _

"Yeah."

"Yeah, what?" There was a hint of unrestrained mockery in Charlie's tone as he continued, "You'll have to do better than that, Dean. Right or left?"

"Right-handed you sonuvabitch."

"All right, the left-hand it is then." Charlie raised the mallet to strike, holding it there as he gloated. "I've done this to quite a few people, and I gotta tell you it's gonna hurt like hell." He laughed as he stared directly into Dean's eyes. "You should've heard their screams . . . they'd put poor Frankie over there to shame."

Dean's icy glare turned deadly. "I don't plan on screaming . . . wouldn't dream of givin' you the pleasure."

"Sure you will, Dean, they all do eventually, and so will you."

"Give it your best shot, you sonuvabitch," Dean gritted out.

"You're gonna be cocky right to the very end — I knew I was gonna enjoy this."

Charlie slammed the mallet down hard against Dean's left hand. Dean had just barely heard the loud sickening crack of bones breaking when Charlie struck again more forcefully, this time breaking his wrist.

Dean winced, teeth tightly clenched against the cry of pain begging to escape his lips. Squeezing his eyes closed, Dean took slow staggering breaths desperately trying to quell the searing pain rippling upward from his hand.

"You're a man of your word, Dean. I scarcely heard a whimper out of you. You have no idea how happy that makes me."

"Al-always aim ta pl-ease," Dean said, swallowing hard, lower jaw trembling, as he fought against the bile rising in his throat.

Charlie leaned in until his face was with mere inches of Dean's. "Means I was right about you — means that watching Sammy die will be what breaks you."

"I'm s-so gonna kill you."

"Promises, promises, Dean." Charlie reached in the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a needle and injected a sedative in Dean's upper arm. "Wouldn't want you to try and escape while I've gone to collect your wayward brother, now would I?"

"Don't you touch him — y-you hear me? I'll kill you — I swear to God, I will."

"Oh, Dean, I plan to do more than just touch him . . . I plan on cutting him apart, limb by bloody limb."

Charlie turned and stalked away, leaving Dean alone in the underground prison.

_Sammy . . . oh God, Sammy — have to break free and save you — have to. . . . _Dean passed out cold as the strong sedative and the unbearable pain his hand took hold.


	8. Chapter 8

_so, hopefully i didn't scare anyone away with the last chapter!! thanks so much for reading and all the wonderful review so far!! So thrilled everyone seems to love/hate Charlie!!! remember reviews are golden!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eight_

Sam glared at the empty motel room in fury and disbelief. His body trembled with rage as he snatched Dean's phone off the bed and quickly read Charlie's latest taunting note.

_Ah, Sammyboy, GPS tracking. Very clever of you! Why ever didn't I think of that . . . oh yeah, I did. I'll always be one step ahead of you. A mind of a serial killer is a very deadly thing try not to forget that in the future. So let me catch you up to speed, by the time you read this, the score will be Charlie four/Sam zero. Poor Frankie, such a waste. Guess there really is such a thing as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hope you do better this time around cause I have to tell you, Dean is making for such easy prey. Ah, I'm feeling very generous right now so I'll give you a clue as to where to find me . . . . you can find me at the very last place you'd think to look . . . . Charlie_

Crumpling the letter in his fist, Sam stuffed it in his pocket and stormed out the door, heading for the Impala. He'd just slid behind the wheel of the car when his phone rang. Quickly checking the caller ID, he noticed it was a restricted caller and jabbed the button fully expecting to hear Charlie's sardonic voice.

"Hello," he growled into the phone.

"Agent Underhill?" came a raspy voice from the other end of the line. "This is Thomas Porter, I got your message regarding Two-finger Charlie."

"Agent Porter, thanks for calling me back so quickly."Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm interested to know any information you could provide about Charlie."

Sam could hear the man's deep racking cough, before Thomas replied, "Well, I'm in Kellogg right now, working on two murders associated with the case, but would be happy to discuss it with you when I get back."

_Two towns away from here. Finally, just a bit of luck on our side. _"Look, Agent Porter, I can be there in about a half-an-hour and I really need to speak with you."

The line was silent for a moment and then Thomas replied, "All right, I can meet you at the Berkwood Inn where I'm staying in about forty-five minutes, but I only have about twenty-five minutes to discuss the case with you."

"Twenty-five minutes is great. I'll be there as fast as I can. Thanks."

Agent Porter coughed loudly into the phone again. When he spoke again, his voice was even more raspy. "All right, I'll be waiting for you. Room 15." He then hung up.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam made it to the Berkwood Inn in record time. He sat nervously tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the room Agent Porter was staying in. _Damn, this better not be a waste of time. He'd better have something more for me to go on than I can find Charlie at the last place I'd ever look to find him._

As Sam got out of the car, another spasm of coughing, racked his body, leaving him feeling weak and trembling. He slammed the door shut, and leaned against the doorframe. He shivered uncontrollably as the cold air bit into his fevered skin. _God, I don't have time for this crap. _He struggled to catch his breath, lungs aching. _Just breathe stupid. Dean needs you right now. You can cough up a lung tomorrow._

He strode to the door and knocked. A few seconds later, a tall, muscular man with dark brown hair and eyes to match, opened the door.

"Agent Underhill?" The man's hoarse voice cracked as he spoke.

Sam was about to answer when another coughing spell overwhelmed him. He braced himself against the wall, gasping for breath. "Yeah," he finally managed to choke out, then showed Agent Thomas his fake FBI badge. _Man, I'm so screwed if he realizes this a fake._ _Just smile at the man and try to look official. _Sam smiled awkwardly at Thomas, then started sneezing. "Sorry, gotta a cold."

Thomas took it from him, looked from the picture to Sam and then handed it back. "You sound worse than me." He chuckled. "Come in, it'll just take me a second to get my files on Charlie together and then we can talk."

"Thanks, Agent Porter. I really appreciate this."

Thomas turned, and headed inside with Sam close behind. "I have coffee brewing, always bring my own cause you can never get good coffee on the road." The agent's voice became more strained and hoarse as he spoke. "Would you care for a cup?"

"Sure, that would be great." Sam shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on the back of the chair and then took a seat at a small table, littered with pictures depicting gruesome murders. He looked at them for a moment and then turned away, his stomach twisting in knots.

Thomas walked to the dresser where he had his coffee maker and poured two cups of coffee. "Sugar or cream?"

"Just a little cream." Sam's gaze was drawn back to the morbid photos, and he couldn't help picking up a picture of a young man who could've been Dean's age. The man's flesh was ripped from his bones, his face horribly disfigured. Sam stared at it for a moment longer before throwing it back into the pile. He shuffled through the photos, noticing how many of them were just of hands with one missing finger. "Why does he cut off their finger?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

With his back to Sam, Thomas shrugged. "It is Charlie's calling card. Think of it as his signature, to prove he committed the murders. Also most serial killers like to keep some sort of trophy, a finger, lock of hair, or a personal item from the victim."

Thomas turned and walked to the table, setting a cup in front of Sam and placing his own coffee down on the opposite side of the table. He swung around and headed to his bed, picked up his scattered files, arranging them in an orderly fashion and then came back to the table. "So what would you like to know about Charlie, Agent Underhill?"

Sam took a quick gulp of the steaming hot liquid before asking, "I need to know how to find him, what makes him tick, and how to catch him?"

Thomas leaned back in his chair, clasped hands behind his head, a bemused expression on his face. "You won't find any of that in my files, I'm afraid. If there was, we would've already caught him."

_Damn it, this is gonna be a waste of time. He doesn't know any more about Charlie than I do. _"Then what can you tell me?" Sam took another long drink, nearly draining the cup.

"I can tell you he always kills in pairs, always male and they are usually brothers or men who have a close personal relationship with each other." Thomas paused, drew in a deep breath and started coughing. He took a drink of his coffee and then continued, "He's probably somewhere in his mid to late thirties, would easily blend into the crowd, and is probably working at a job that is well below his capabilities."

Sam drained his cup and set it on the table. "How do you think he picks his victims?"

Thomas was quiet for a moment, as he stared at the photos scattered across the table. "The only link I could find to all the victims was that they'd all had run-ins with the law at some point in their lives. Mostly just petty offences, although there were a couple of men wanted for felonies."

"So he would have to have access to criminal records then. A police officer maybe?"

"We've thought of that, but have never come up with any conclusive leads." Thomas pointed to Sam's cup. "Would you care for more? If you don't mind my saying so, you sure look like you could use it." The agent laughed.

"Yeah, thanks." Sam handed him the cup, hands trembling. Another coughing spell overtook him, lungs burning as he struggled to catch his breath. He shivered, blinking hard as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

Thomas stood, went and filled Sam's cup and returned, handing it to him. "You really don't look good, Agent Underhill, have you seen a doctor about that cough?"

_Yeah, like I have the time for that. _Sam quickly swallowed down the coffee, the steaming liquid burning the back of his throat. "M'okay." He shook his head, squinched his eyes, trying to clear the fogginess settling in. "Wh-what about a FBI or CIA agent. Th-they would have access to those kinds of records."

Thomas watched Sam for a second, a strange look on his face, and then he took his seat. He scrubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw. "It's a thought. They would have access to those kinds of records, and the intelligence coupled with the specialized training which would make it harder for them to get caught."

Sam licked his parched lips, his tongue suddenly feeling thick and useless. He blinked hard, having trouble keeping his eyes open. His mind swam as he tried to hold onto one complete thought. "S-so it could be . . . I could be looking for someone. . . ." Sam glanced in Thomas' direction with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. _How could've I been so damn stupid? _The man's face shifted in and out of focus, as Sam's eyelids fluttered open and closed. "I-it was in the coffee, r-right. Y-you drugged it . . . Charlie."

"Ding, ding, ding . . . give the boy a prize." Charlie laughed. "Bravo Sammyboy. And it only took you two cups to figure it out."

Sam leapt to his feet, nearly falling over as the strong sedative started to take effect. "Wh-where's my br-brother, you sonuvabitch."

He rushed the older man, stumbling as Charlie caught him by the arm, and twisted it behind Sam's back with ease and forced Sam to his knees. Charlie kicked him square in the middle if his back. Sam fell forward, a cry of pain escaping from his lips. Charlie leapt on top of him, grabbed Sam by the hair and yanked his head back, resting a sharp knife against his throat.

Charlie leaned in and whispered in Sam's ear. "Your brother screamed like a baby when I smashed his hands to bits. You should've heard him, Sammy."

Struggling to breathe under the heavy weight of the crazed man perched on his back, Sam choked out, "N-not my br-brother. Dean would n-never give you the s-satisfaction."

"Oh, I don't know, Sammy." Charlie pressed the knife into Sam's neck. "Even the strongest of men would scream if someone smashed all the bones in their hand."

"G-gonna . . . I-I'm gonna . . . . kill — "

Jerking Sam's head back even further, Charlie laughed. "You're gonna kill me, Sammyboy. Ha, what are you gonna do? Cough on me and give me a really bad cold. Pardon me if I don't shudder."

Charlie stood, dragged Sam to his feet, still clutching onto his hair. Yanking free, Sam swung to punch Charlie, but Charlie quickly blocked the ineffectual blow and slammed his fist into Sam's right eye, followed quickly by a jab to the stomach.

Sam stumbled backward, falling onto the bed. Before Sam had a chance to move, Charlie was back on top of him, pinning Sam's arms down under the weight of his legs, the tip of his blade poised over Sam's heart.

"Come on, Sammy, give me a reason to kill you right now."

Swallowing hard, Sam stilled as the blade pierced the skin underneath his clothes. He glared at the man through bleary eyes. _G-gotta stay awake . . . gotta help Dean . . . . _

"Wh-why us?" Sam asked, knowing he was quickly losing the battle to stay awake.

Laughing, Charlie sliced deeper into Sam's skin. Sam clenched his teeth, wincing, yet he refused to cry out as blood seeped down his shirt.

"Ah, I guess you deserve to know that much." He raised the knife momentarily and placed it at the side of Sam's neck, slowly dragging it downward, blood covering the blade and Charlie's hand. "Come on, Sammy, just one little scream . . . you know you want to."

Sam groaned as knife dug deeper into his flesh. _Not g-gonna let you win. Not gonna scream. _"I asked why?"

"Ah very well." A sinister smile settled on the demented killer's face. "Your names came across my desk, one day not too long ago. Seems as if you boys were making quite a name for yourselves. And I have to say I was intrigued by the way you and your brother could just disappear into thin air, leaving the police and FBI baffled . . . but not me. I've always had a knack for finding people . . . for knowing how they think . . . call it a gift. And it lead me right to you and Dean."

Charlie slashed the blade across Sam's chest, ripping through his shirt, and slicing into Sam's skin.

Sam let out a muffled cry of pain, his head lolling to the side, as he lost consciousness.

Charlie drew in a deep breath as he lifted the blade to his lips and licked the blood from it. "You know what, Sammy, it tastes just as sweet as I thought it would."


	9. Chapter 9

_okay, so this next chapter is kind of gruesome...or at least i think so...hopefully won't scare anyone away!! thanks forr eading, bambers;)_

_Chapter Nine_

Dean heard the light sound of footsteps, could feel the sting of Charlie's mocking glare on the back of his neck. _Damn it, Sammy, you'd better be okay. _

Once behind Dean, Charlie leaned in and whispered. "I got him, Dean. Got your precious Sammy."

"You're a liar," Dean sneered. Clenching his right hand into a tight fist, Dean fought against the sturdy ropes. His left hand, hung limp and useless over the arm of the chair. The tight binds cut into Dean's swollen wrist, his fingers tingling with pain.

"You think so?" Charlie's menacing laughter echoed through the darkened bunker. "I wouldn't count on it, if I were you." Circling around to stand in front of him, Charlie threw a shredded, blood-stained flannel shirt at Dean. An unsettling grin crossed the crazed man's features. "Does this look familiar?"

Dean stared at the mangled shirt belonging to his brother, stomach churning. _Oh God, Sam, what did he do to you? _He jerked forward in the chair, writhing against the restraints, a deep growl escaping his lips. "Where's my brother? What the hell did you do to him, you bastard?"

Charlie slammed his open hand down forcefully on Dean's broken one and squeezed tightly with all his strength. Dean winced, letting out a low ragged groan. His gut wrenched as he felt the bones grind together. He swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat.

Dean glared at Charlie, green eyes narrowing to mere slits, determined not let how badly his hand hurt. "Y-you sick son-uvabitch." The tremor in Dean's voice, belied the pain he was desperately trying to conceal.

Laughing, Charlie let go of Dean's hand. "You know, I could stay here all day trying to break you." He drew in a deep breath, and gestured toward where he'd just come from. "But, I have Sammy strung up around here somewhere bleedin' all over the place and I really need to see to him."

"I wanna see my brother."

"Oh, you will." Charlie turned, stalked to the table, and snatched a long metal poker off of it. "I promise." He walked back to Dean, stopping within inches of him. With the poker, he gestured around to various places on the ceiling. "I have this bunker wired for sound." A glint of pure evil danced in Charlie's dark eyes. "For now, I'm afraid you'll just have to settle for hearing every scream and every cry Sam makes as he begs you to help him."

Charlie slammed the tip of the poker down forcefully, piercing Dean's booted foot. Dean let out a low cry then clamped his mouth shut tight, shuddering as wave after wave of excruciating pain emanated outward from the wound.

Yanking the poker out of Dean's foot, Charlie smirked. "Did that hurt, Dean? Cause from where I'm standing, it really looked like it did."

_Gotta keep him away from Sammy._ _If I can keep him here, maybe Sam can escape. _Dean drew a staggering breath, and then forced a smile. "Naw, is that the best ya got?"

"Nice try, Dean, but Sammyboy is waiting for me. Wouldn't want your brother to freeze to death out there, what with him not wearin' a coat or even a shirt, for that matter."

Charlie strode away, calling back over his shoulder. "Hope you enjoy the show, the acoustics in here are simply fabulous. Every scream, echoing off the walls, for your listening pleasure."

"Get back here, you sonuvabitch!" Dean yanked on the ropes, muscles straining, sweat dripping down his face and the nape of his neck. "Whatever you're gonna do to him, do it to me instead. You hear me — do it to me instead!"

The madman stopped for a second, and tapped the metal poker against the cement floor. "You see, I knew you would say that . . . knew you would do anything to save Sammy from any sort of pain. He's your Achilles heel, Dean. Make him suffer and you'll crumple pathetically. So I'm gonna make him suffer for as long as possible."

Charlie stalked away.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam was startled awake from his unconscious state as Charlie dumped a bucket of ice cold water on him. He shivered uncontrollably, blinking hard against the bright light in his eyes. The scent of burning wood lingered in the air, and he could hear it snapping and crackling nearby. _I'm outside, but where? _Icy cold winds nipped unmercifully at his bare chest.

_Dean, where are you?_

Trying to sit up, he realized his wrists and ankles were both pinned beneath heavy metal cuffs, attached to a long wooden table. Sam yanked viciously at them, to no avail.

"Not gonna do you any good, Sammy," came Charlie's scornful voice. "Others have tried — I'm sure you won't have any luck either."

Sam cocked his head to the side and saw Charlie standing beside a strange looking iron barrel with slits cut out of the bottom for ventilation. The barrel glowed with intense heat as Charlie stirred the hot ashes with a metal poker, his hand gripping the wooden handle firmly.

Leaving the poker in the fire, Charlie wiped the seat from his brow. "Not quite hot enough yet."

Slow realization dawned on Sam as to what the fire and poker was for. Tearing his gaze away from Charlie, he stared at the blazing fire, a feeling of dread washing over him. _Oh God, he's gonna — _Sam jerked even harder on the restraints, kicking hard with his legs, but the shackles wouldn't budge.

Charlie stalked to him, grabbed Sam by the throat and slammed him down hard against the table. He yanked a knife out of the sheath attached to his belt. "You know what I'm gonna do to you Sammy?" He waited for Sam to answer, and when Sam just glared at him, he continued, "Come on, Sam, take a guess, I'm sure Dean is dying to hear your voice."

Sam's gaze darted back and forth, searching for any sign of his brother.

"Oh, Sammy, you won't be able to see him, but he can hear you — I made sure he could hear you. Didn't want Dean to miss a single moment of this."

"Where's my brother?"

"Ah, that's better." Charlie smiled. "Now tell me what you think I'm gonna do to you. Let your brother hear the words from your lips."

"No." Sam shook his head, the back of it rubbing against the wooden table as Charlie tightened his grip on Sam's throat.

"All right, have it your way. I'll tell him." Charlie sneered, raising his knife so it caught a glint of sunlight. "I'm gonna slice you open and sear you closed, over and over again. Hear that, Dean? Gonna carve up your brother like a Christmas goose." Charlie chuckled, a sardonic gleam in his eyes.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The moment Dean heard Sam's voice, his heart leapt into his throat, a tremor of fear surging through his entire body. _Damn it, Sammy, hold on, I swear I'll save you. _

Charlie's voice emanated from every corner of the room as he took delight in telling Dean how he planned on torturing Sam."That's right, Dean, you get to hear your baby brother being sliced and diced and then closed back up so I can start all over again." He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was almost gleeful. "Too bad you won't be able to smell his flesh burning."

_Oh Christ, Sam. Fight him! Don't let him do that to you. _Dean kicked and bucked against the chair, muscles flexed, his broken hand throbbing as he fought desperately to free himself. The chair teetered precariously then tipped over, sending Dean crashing to the floor. The gritty cement floor, scratching into his skin.

_Come on, Dean, you can do this. You can free yourself. _Slowly, he began rubbing the ropes back and forth against the ground, trying to loosen them.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Think it's just about hot enough now, Sammy." Charlie strode to the fire and pulled out the poker, the tip of it, glowing red-hot. "Let's see, shall we."

He walked to the table, licking his lips in anticipation. "It's gonna hurt, Sammy . . . gonna hurt like a sonuvabitch."

Charlie dragged the searing hot poker down the length of one of the knife wounds he'd inflicted on Sam earlier. Sam's staggering breath caught in his throat as he reared up, a scream tearing from his lips as the scent of his burnt flesh filled the air.

"Yep, it's hot enough." He set the poker down on another wound and raked it across the deep cut.

"Oh God. . . . Stop," Sam screamed, writhing against the metal cuffs, his eyes glazing over with pain as Charlie trailed through yet another open cut.

"Can't stop yet, Sammy. This is way too much fun." Charlie's gripped onto his knife. "Besides, we haven't gotten to the slicing part of this little experiment in pain, yet."

Charlie slashed the blade across Sam's chest. Blood dripped momentarily from the deep cut, and then Charlie laid the hot poker across it, searing the wound closed.

Sam shuddered, tears spilling down the sides of his cheeks. "De-Dean — help me."

"Sorry, Sammy, your brother can't help you," Charlie said, as he mercilessly ripped into Sam's flesh again. "But you can scream to him all you want. In fact, I'd love it if you would — let Dean know just how much pain you're truly in." A demented smile crossed the madman's features.

Sam's stomach lurched as the knife pierced the soft flesh of his belly, and he barely had time to turn his head, before he threw up. Stomach wrenching violently, he gasped for air, his lungs burning with the effort. He drew a shallow breath, coughing hoarsely as his entire body trembled with pain.

Scorching heat ripped through Sam's stomach as Charlie dragged the metal poker across it. He shuddered one last time, his brother's name dying on his lips as Sam once again lost consciousness.

Charlie set the poker down and re-sheathed his blade, a satisfied smile on his face. He unlocked the cuffs around Sam's wrists and ankles. Hefting the motionless man off the table, Charlie dragged him through the snow toward the underground bunker.

Once inside, Charlie slammed Sam up against the wall. Looking back to where Dean was still wrestling against the ropes, he chuckled. "Having fun yet, Dean."

"Sam!" Dean cried out the moment he saw his brother. "Sammy," he called again when his brother didn't respond.

"Afraid he can't answer you right now, Dean." Charlie grabbed Sam's arm and clamped a metal cuff sticking out of the wall around Sam's wrist. He proceeded to cuff Sam's other wrist and ankles. When he was finished, Charlie stepped back to admire his handy work, and Sam's head lolled forward.

"Just wait till I get free, I swear to God, I'm gonna make what you did to him seem like child's play."

"Promises, promises, Dean." Charlie unsheathed his knife, looked from Sam to Dean, a look of pure evil in his eyes. "Don't blink, Dean, or you'll miss this." In a flash, Charlie raised the knife and drove it through Sam's open hand, nailing it to the wall. Sam let out a scream of pain and then his head drooped to the side once more.

"Sammy!"

Charlie turned to Dean. "And now the real torture begins."


	10. Chapter 10

_so, as with the last chapter, fair warning, i think it is pretty gruesome...thanks for reading and thanks for all the awesome reviews!! you guys are awesome!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Ten_

Charlie strode away from Sam toward a long wooden table at the far corner of the room, and Dean got his first real glimpse of his brother. Long slashing wounds, covered Sam's chest and stomach, charred and blackened from the hot poker. The odd sweet smell of burnt flesh filled the musty air, Dean nearly gagging on it.

Dean fought the tears threatening to overwhelm him as he stared at his broken brother. _Oh God, Sammy, those are never gonna go away. How the hell am I supposed to fix this?_

Blood from Sam's hand dripped soundlessly to the ground. Sam's shaggy hair partially covered his swollen right eye, tinges of deep purple forming around the outer edges of his eyelid. _I swear, Sammy, I'll make him suffer for everything he did to you._

The sound of rusty wheels squeaking across the cement floor, drew Dean's attention to the madman, who had mercilessly tortured his brother. Charlie stopped the cart heavily laden with cruel looking instruments in front of Sam.

"Ready to see me tear your brother apart, Dean, cause I gotta tell ya, I'm just dying to begin."

Dean glared at the man from his prone position on the ground. _I'm so sorry, Sam . . . so sorry I didn't protect you from this. _"I'm gonna kill you, you know that don't you? Gonna make you suffer for every once of pain you inflicted on my brother."

"I think I'd be shaking more if you weren't all tied up . . . but of course you are, so I'm not all that worried." Charlie laughed.

Charlie stalked toward Dean, grabbed him by the arm with one hand and the toppled chair with the other, yanking hard, and pulling Dean back into an upright position. Dean felt the ropes around his right wrist and ankle slacken slightly, with the sudden jerking movement.

"There, that's much better, wouldn't want you to miss anything." Charlie turned and headed back to Sam.

Dean pressed down against the wooden chair and dragged his arm backward, and felt the tight binds loosen a little bit more. _Hold on, Sammy . . . it's not a lot, but at least it's a start. I swear to God, if it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna break free and save you._

Hearing a soft moan, Dean glanced up and saw his brother was waking. Sam's normally bright hazel eyes were glazed with pain as he looked at Dean. There was an unspoken plea for help in them, and it nearly broke Dean's heart. _I'm tryin', Sammy — you just got to hold on. Please just hold for me. _

Charlie held up a metal object that looked almost like a collar with a thick metal plate in front, and an oblong shaped box, sticking out of the back."You know what this is, Dean?"

Dean remained silent, glaring at the crazed lunatic.

"Awww . . . come on, Dean, it's no fun if you aren't even gonna try and guess." He waited another moment, and then added, "Very well, it's called an iron gag, very old school. Doesn't look too deadly, does it?"

Charlie grabbed Sam by the hair, yanking his head backward. "Open your mouth."

Sam shook his head, lower jaw trembling, his gaze remaining on Dean.

"Let me rephrase myself — open your mouth or I'll smash all your teeth in. Is that better?"

Reluctantly, Sam opened his mouth and Charlie shoved the oblong box inside of it, the box pressing Sam's tongue down and gagging him. Charlie locked it in place behind Sam's neck, Sam's muffled cry choked off by the strange metal mask.

"Now here's the trick with the iron gag . . . what made it a real fun torture device." Charlie covered the air hole and after a few seconds Sam started squirming, shaking his head, trying to break free so he could breathe.

"Let go of him, you bastard," Dean screamed, tugging more viciously on his restraints.

Chuckling, Charlie turned his head to the side to look at Dean. "Give it another second or two, Dean, want to see how long Sammyboy can go without air."

Sam's eyes rolled backward, his frantic movements becoming more and more sluggish. His head lolled backward then drooped to the side, and just as Dean thought Sam was gonna pass out from lack of oxygen, Charlie removed his hand.

Sam breathed hard against the metal gag, chest heaving, a choked muffled sob escaping from the narrow air hole.

"Should I do it again, Dean . . . see how long it takes for Sammy to actually lose consciousness?"A gloating smile lingered on Charlie's face, lips twisting into a smirk. "Really shouldn't take too long, seein' how he's already having trouble breathing." Charlie glanced at the bottle of pills on the table underneath all the photos of Sam and Dean and then his gaze fixed on Dean. "The poor boy really should've been taking his antibiotics."

"You sonuvabitch."

"Yeah, I really am . . . aren't I?"

"Whatever you're gonna do to him, do it to me instead." Dean's brows drew together, sparks of fury in his dark green orbs, a look of pure hatred on his face. "Just let him go, you bastard."

"Not the answer I was looking for." Charlie twisted around and clamped his hand down once again on the air hole, blocking off Sam's air.

After a few moments of useless writhing, Sam's head drooped forward, eyelids slowly fluttering open and closed.

"Sam . . . Sammy! You stay with me," Dean ordered, trying to sound as much like his father as he possibly could. "You fight and don't you dare stop. You hear me? Don't you stop fighting — not now, not ever."

Sam glanced in Dean's direction, heavy eyelids slightly open, and gave a weak nod.

Charlie removed his hand from the gag. "Ah, good, Sammy, you have some fight in you after all. I was beginning to worry."

The crazed man picked up the mallet, he'd smashed Dean's hand with, and gingerly kneaded the handle between his fingers. He returned his gaze to Sam, pursing his lips as if contemplating his next move. "Let's see, we've already pinned down your left hand, how about we go for the other one."

Balling his right hand into a tight fist, Sam glared at Charlie, and then his gaze darted to Dean and fixed on him. The muscles in Sam's cheeks twitched as tears filled his eyes, and Dean could tell how close he was to losing it.

_Come on, Sammy, don't let him do this to you — Don't let him win._

Charlie pried Sam's hand open, snapping and breaking each of his fingers, with a sickening crunch, and Sam screamed against the gag. The madman grabbed a heavy metal spike off the cart and pressed it into Sam's hand.

Sam tore his gaze away from Dean's and looked at his own hand. His Adam's apple bobbed convulsively as he swallowed hard against the gag, shaking his head as he tried to shy away from the serial killer.

"Look at me, Sam," Dean commanded, desperate not to have Sam see what was about to happen. "Look at me and whatever happens, don't you take your eyes off of me. Do you hear me?"

Slowly, Sam turned to stare at Dean, body trembling, a wild terrified look in his eyes.

"I'm gonna save you, Sammy. Don't you doubt it even for a second." Sweat beaded on Dean's forehead and dripped into his eyes as he yanked even harder the restraints. With muscles flexing and bunching, he felt the ropes loosen even more, his hand slipping through the first coil of roping.

"Awww . . . isn't that sweet, Sammy, your brother thinks he's gonna save you." Charlie raised the mallet. "Do you believe him?"

Without looking away from Dean, Sam nodded.

"Really?" Charlie swung hard and drove the spike into Sam's right hand, and Sam's muffled cry was drowned out by Dean's scream. He slammed the mallet into the spike again, blood steadily seeping from beneath it to drip onto the floor.

Wincing, Sam squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling. Instinctively, Sam curled shaky fingers around the thick metal nail, in an attempt to shelter his injured hand from more pain.

"How about now, Sammy. Do you think he's gonna protect you?"

Tears slipped down Sam's cheeks unheeded as he gave a curt nod.

Charlie turned to face Dean, a malicious gleam in his dark eyes. "Huh, guess I'd better try a little harder, don't you think so, Dean?" He swung back and forcefully slammed the mallet into Sam's stomach.

Doubling over, Sam gasped for breath, and Charlie clamped his hand down on the mask's air hole, withholding oxygen. Rearing up, Sam writhed against his capture's firm grasp on the mask, to no avail.

"I hold your life in my hands, Sammy," Charlie chided. "I'm the only one who can give you the air you need to live, so tell me now — Can . . . Dean . . . Save . . . You?"

Sam glanced at Dean, a lost forlorn expression in his sad hazel eyes, then looked at Charlie and shook his head. Charlie released his hold on the mask, and Sam drew in staggering breaths, coughing against the gag, his chest heaving with the strain it took to gather a full intake of air.

The defeated look in his brother's eyes was almost more than Dean could bear. _Oh God, Sammy, don't give up on me now. _

Dean's sweaty hand slipped free of the binding on his right hand. _I'm almost free, just give me a little more time._ _I swear, I'll make him pay for what he's done to you, Sammy. I swear on my life, I will._ Making sure Charlie wasn't looking, Dean cautiously leaned to his side and snatched the knife he had concealed in his boot.

Charlie shuffled through the deadly weapons on the cart and pulled a long dagger-sharp four-pronged object from the surface and held it up so Sam could get a better look at it. "Now let's see how much pain you really can endure, Sammy."

Seeing the look of absolute terror on his brother's face, Dean redoubled his efforts. Quickly sawing through the ropes around his right leg, Dean started on his left. At the sound of Sam's muted cry, Dean jerked his head up and saw the crazed killer, slashing through Sam's chest with the wicked pronged weapon. Blood dripped down from the cruel looking wounds, quickly soaking into Sam's jeans.

Charlie looked from the weapon to Sam, and smiled. "It's called a Spanish Tickler, Sammyboy, can't understand why you're not laughing."

Sam's head dropped forward, his body quivering and jerking spasmodically, and then he ceased to move, becoming deathly still.

Dean slashed through the last of his binds, mindless of the fact that he'd sliced through his own skin, and leapt to his feet, a shockwave of pain ripping through his injured foot. He nearly stumbled before regaining his balance and limped toward the vicious madman, holding his knife in a death-grip.

So engrossed in torturing Sam, Charlie failed to hear Dean's stealthy approach. Dean raised his knife and drove it into the man's back and yanked it out, poised to strike again. A startled cry of pain escaped from Charlie's lips as he swung to glare at Dean.

Dean slammed his broken hand into the madman's face, shuddering at the jolt of searing pain, traveling up the length of his arm from the impact.

Charlie lifted the weapon in his hand, charging at Dean. Dean dropped his knife, caught the man's outstretched arm, and twisted it viciously behind his back. Yanking on it with all his strength, Dean smashed his elbow down hard against the bone, and heard a sickening crack, followed by a yelp of pain from Charlie.

Dean kicked the man square in the middle of his back, sending Charlie sprawling to the ground. Snatching up his discarded blade, Dean stormed toward Charlie, a wicked glint in his green eyes.

"Now it's my turn you evil sonuvabitch."


	11. Chapter 11

_okay, for everyone who has waited for Dean to get Charlie, here ya go!! hope you enjoy!! as with last few chappies, this one is also kinda gruesome!! thanks for reading and all the awesome reviews!! i live for them!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eleven_

Charlie leapt to his feet, now holding the four-pronged weapon in his opposite hand, his broken arm cradled against his chest.

"What are you gonna do, Dean, kill me while Sammy bleeds to death?" Charlie taunted, his tone low and menacing. "But what other choice, do you have — turn your back on me an' I'll kill ya and Sammyboy dies . . . Or you fight me, maybe you'd beat me, but your brother still dies." Charlie's crazed laughter echoed through the darkened room, grating on Dean's already taut nerves. "Any way you look at it, I've already won."

Matching the man's evil sneer with an equally fervent glare of his own, Dean slowly limped toward Charlie. He raised his knife, poised to strike. "Really, cause I was kinda thinkin', it would only take a couple of seconds to plunge this knife into your heart."

Charlie eyed Dean for a moment, a devious smile spreading across his features as he took several backward steps. "Careful, Dean, you're beginning to sound a bit like me."

"I'm nothin' like you."

Dean continued to advance toward Charlie, jarring pain shooting up through his foot with every stride. Blood spilled from the puncture hole in his right foot with every slow and awkward movement. He grimaced, gritting his teeth, a low hiss escaping his lips.

"Really? You think so?" Charlie took several more back steps. "Revenge has a way of changing a person, Dean. It opens you up to all the dark things you're hiding in your soul. Do you really think you can take my life and not be changed by it?"

"I'm pretty sure, I'll sleep like a baby once you're dead," Dean said, a glint of pure hatred in his green eyes.

"Bravo, Dean, spoken like true cold-blood killer. I'm so proud of you. Means you're just like me."

"I'm not letting you inside my head, you sonuvabitch."

Charlie glared at Dean then his gaze shifted to Sam. "He's dying, Dean, can't you hear the sound of his blood dripping to the ground. His heartbeat growing ever-so faint.— and still you come after me. Really kinda makes me wonder how much you care about Sammy."

"My brother means everything to me."

Hearing a soft, muted cry from Sam's direction, Dean stopped dead in his tracks, never taking his gaze off the serial killer.

"But yet you never take your eye off the prize. Maybe all those years hunting inexplicable evil has left its mark on you after all — what would your dead father think of you."

"You bastard."

Dean charged him, half-running, half-limping, a low guttural cry tearing from his lips as he plunged the knife into Charlie's shoulder. He viciously yanked the blade out and stabbed Charlie again.

Charlie slammed his boot down hard on top of Dean's injured foot, and pushing Dean backward, the crazed man slashed the sharp prongs of the Spanish Tickler across Dean's chest, blood seeping down his shirt from the gashes. Dean stumbled to the ground, a cry of pain erupting from deep within him.

Dropping his weapon, Charlie jerked the knife from his chest, aimed with deadly accuracy and threw it at Dean. Before Dean had a chance to move, the blade struck him in shoulder in nearly the same spot as where he had stabbed Charlie.

"Was always an expert at knife throwing." Charlie smirked, snatching up his weapon and stalking toward Dean.

Groaning, Dean pulled the bloody knife from his shoulder, and scrambled to his feet.

Both men circled, Dean's attention momentarily drawn to Sam as his younger brother let out an anguished cry. _Hold on, Sammy. I'll get you outta this, I promise._

Charlie struck again, catching Dean right below the ribcage with his weapon, then quickly backed away. "A man with divided attention is always easily conquered, Dean. You'd do well to remember that."

Grimacing, Dean clutched his side with his injured hand, breathing hard against the pain.

"Not so divided, I can't still kill you," Dean warned in a low deadly tone.

"Awww . . . Did that hurt, Dean," Charlie taunted, laughing menacingly. He arched a sardonic brow, eyes alight with a devilish gleam."Just imagine how it must've felt for poor Sammy, what with it ripping through his burnt flesh. God, it must've been . . . torture."

"You sick sonuva — " Dean lunged at Charlie, and drove his blade into the man's belly. Grabbing hold of Charlie's shoulder, Dean pulled him closer, locked eyes with the murderer and yanked the knife upward through the soft flesh of the madman's stomach. Blood spilt out onto Dean's hand as he thrust deeper into Charlie's gut.

Gasping, Charlie staggered backward, dropping his weapon. A look of stunned surprise crossed his features as his knees buckled and he fell forward into Dean, knocking them both to the ground.

Dean bucked the man off of him, rolled and leapt on top of Charlie. Grabbing Charlie's four-pronged weapon, Dean raked it across the evil man's right cheek and Charlie screamed as the skin was ripped from his face.

Charlie glared at Dean, eyes wild with pain, and then suddenly he smiled. "You gonna kill me, Dean? Think you have what it takes to be a murderer."

With chest heaving, breathing hard, Dead slammed his injured hand into the man's face, scarcely feeling the burning pain it evoked. "It's not murder — it's revenge."

"Be careful, Dean, revenge always sound sweet to the lips, but burns the throat, and sears the heart." Charlie groaned as Dean dragged the dagger-sharp prongs through his upper chest. "I-it'll change you . . . you can't t-take it back . . . c-can you live with that darkness inside of y-you?"

"You know what — I think I can."

Raising his weapon, Dean forcefully drove the prongs into Charlie's neck. Blood gurgled in Charlie's throat and bubbled on his lips as he grabbed hold of Dean's shirt.

"I-I w-win." Charlie's head drooped to the side, body shaking convulsively. He drew a last breath and then went still.

Dean stared at the dead man for a moment. _What the hell did he mean, he won? _"No, you lost, you sonuvabitch." Letting go the cruel weapon, Dean balled his fist and smashed it into the man's face one more time.

He searched Charlie's pockets and found the key to unlock Sam's shackles, and then slowly, Dean rose to stand on shaky legs and limped toward his brother. With trembling fingers, he removed the iron gag around Sam's face. Dean swallowed hard, hating the idea of what he had to do next, knowing how much it was gonna hurt his brother.

Scrubbing his hand down the length of his face, he glared first at the knife sticking out of Sam's left hand and then at the thick spike piercing his right palm. _Oh Christ, Sammy, I don't want to do this. I really don't want to do this._

Dean grabbed hold of the handle of the knife, held his breath, and yanked it out. Sam screamed, eyes welling with tears.

"I'm sorry, Sammy . . . oh God, I'm so sorry." Dean clutched onto the spike, fingers tightening around it. "Just one more . . . one more and you're free." He pulled and tugged on it, but the spike remained firmly planted in the wall. _Oh, shit, I'm gonna have to pry it out of the wall somehow._

Sam turned his head to look at the spike pinning him to the wall, and then his sluggish pleading eyes rested on Dean's. Licking parched lips, Sam mumbled, "D-don't wanna die here, D-Dean."

Hearing his brother's softly spoken plea, Dean's heart clenched, a painful knot forming in his throat. "You're not gonna die, Sammy. Charlie's gone, he can't hurt you anymore — you hear me? He's dead."

Sam nodded and the closed his eyes, his head falling forward.

Dean quickly checked to make sure Sam was still breathing, releasing his own pent breath, when he saw Sam's chest slowly rise and fall. "Sam . . . come on, Sammy, you gotta stay awake for me."

Dean swung to find anything he could use to pry Sam's hand free from the wall. Spotting the curved prongs of the Spanish Tickler sticking grotesquely from Charlie's neck, Dean stalked toward him, bent down and yanked it out of the dead man's throat, and hurried back to his brother.

Hooking the prongs around the spike, Dean wedged it against the wall, and pulled back, the spike falling to the floor, clinking loudly against the cement ground.

Worriedly, Dean looked at his brother, who hadn't made a sound as the nail was ripped from his hand. "Open your eyes, Sammy, open them for me," Dean pleaded, and was rewarded for his effort when Sam's eyelids fluttered open.

"Free?" Sam asked, in a breathless whisper.

"Almost, just hang in there, okay?" Dean quickly unlocked the shackles and Sam slid forward into Dean's arms, Dean nearly collapsing under his brother's weight. Wincing, Dean drew in a deep staggering breath, his body jerking to the side as Sam brushed up against the gashes on his chest.

"Dean?" Sam stared at Dean through half-closed lids. "Y-you're hurt."

"M'okay."

Sam leaned more heavily against him, and Dean blinked hard, spots of bright light clouded his vision as his injured foot ground into the floor. The room seemed to tilt sideways, shifting in out of focus as Dean readjusted his hold on his brother. _I can do this._ He repeated over and over again inside his mind. _Gotta get Sammy to a hospital._

"You gotta help me here just a little, Sam." Dean hooked his arm underneath Sam's and Sam grabbed onto Dean's waist with his bloodied hand.

They'd taken only a few steps toward the exit of the underground bunker when Sam stopped short. Squeezing his eyes close, Sam's body tensed. His labored breathing escaped parted lips in short, staggered bursts.

"Don't th-think I can do this. It hurts — it hurts too much."

"I know, Sammy, but we've gotta get outta here so I can get you some help." Dean's grip tightened around his brother's waist, holding Sam up. "But, I can't do it alone . . . Christ, I wish I could — but I can't. So you gotta try a little harder, just till we get to the car."

Sam gave a slight nod.

They slowly made their way across the room, both having to stop several times to catch their breath. Trudging down a pitch black corridor, they finally came to a set of stairs leading out of the underground dwelling.

"Think it's this way outta Oz, Sammy. Just gotta follow the yellow brick road up that staircase, an' we're home free." Dean chuckled, heavy eyelids fluttering open and closed. _Can't pass out now, we're almost there. Just keep talking, keep Sammy awake and everything will be okay. _

"Dude, ever wonder where they came up with the stupid idea of melting that witch with water . . . betcha it wasn't even holy water."

"Never th-thought about it Dean."

They took the first few steps, stopping short when Sam started coughing and gasping for breath. Sam wobbled precariously, almost falling backward, but Dean gripped onto him and held him firmly in place.

"You okay, Sam."

"Gonna be — " Sam turned slightly and wretched all over the stairs, his body jerking convulsively, puke splashing sickenly to the ground. When he was finished, Sam leaned against the wall, shaking and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Sam?"

"Just keep talkin' Dean . . . m-more about Oz."

"All right, dude." Dean helped Sam up the next few steps, his foot throbbing mercilessly. _Can't let Sam know how much pain I'm in. _"Why was it a yellow brick road? Why not red . . . bricks are red, so why not follow the red brick road?"

"Can't really sing about a red brick road, Dean."

"An, here's one for ya, why did the wicked witch give Dorothy so much time to live." They mounted the last step, and Dean pushed the door open. "Not like we've ever come across a witch who said, 'hey, here's an hour for ya to escape in, so have at it'. Kind of a stupid witch if you ask me."

"Just a movie, dude." Sam shivered, icy winds biting into his bare chest.

Dean took off the flannel shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt, and wrapped it around Sam. "Best I can do for now, I'll blast the heat when we get in the — " he glanced around and only saw Charlie's dark blue sedan. "Dude, where's my car?"

"C-couldn't really d-drive here, unconscious," Sam replied, teeth chattering. "It's at the Berkwood Inn."

_Good to know for when I have to come back here and salt and burn that bastard. _Dean bobbed his head toward Charlie's car. "Guess we'll take his car then."

Truding through the snow to the car, they stopped at the passenger's side. Dean helped Sam in and buckled the seatbelt around him, trying to be as careful as he possibly could not to hurt his brother any more than he had to. Dean closed the door and hobbled to the driver's side, opened the squeaky door, slid behind the wheel, and slammed the door shut. Finding the keys already in the ignition, he started the car, revved the engine, and peeled out, the car slipping and sliding all the way down the long driveway. He turned onto the road and headed for town. _God, I hope I'm going the right way._

After a few minutes, Dean turned the heat on high, and cast a sidelong glance at his brother. Sam sat motionless in his seat, eyes closed, his head jostling back and forth, with the movement of the car. Dean reached over, gently pressed against Sam's carotid artery and searched for a pulse. _Come on, damn it, be there. _Finding a faint pulse, Dean let out a deep, grateful sigh.

A half hour later they pulled into the nearest town, and Dean started searching for any signs of a hospital. He drove up and down every street not finding anything to indicate a hospital was nearby.

Seeing a man walking on the sidewalk, he pulled over, opened the window and hollered to the older gentleman. "I need to know where the hospital is."

The man stopped, and gestured back toward the way Dean had just come from. "Go back about ten blocks, turn right at the light, and then take a sharp left on route twelve. The hospital is about four miles up the road from there."

"Thanks." Dean rolled up the window, did a quick u-turn and headed in the direction the man had indicated.

Within ten minutes, they pulled up to the emergency room door.

He glanced at his brother, his brows drawing together in concern, seeing how pale Sam looked. "We're here, Sammy. Everything is going to be okay now."

"Dea — so tired." Sam touched Dean's hand. "S-sorry." He drew a short ragged breath, and then went deathly still.


	12. Chapter 12

_okay, sorry this took so long, but it was a bad weekend, had to take son to the ER, and then my wordfile with all my stories somehow got damaged and after about 15 hours of trying to fix it, i had to reformat the whole computer...so, hopefully everyone enjoys!! thanks for reading and reviewing, bambers;)_

_Chapter Twelve_

Dean barged through the double doors of the emergency room, gripping firmly around Sam's waist with his good hand, and dragging his younger brother into the hospital. Sam's arm hung loosely around Dean's neck, his head resting on Dean's shoulder.

"My brother needs help," he hollered, not caring if he drew attention to himself or Sam. "He's not breathing."

Several nurses and a young female doctor rushed toward them.

"Get a gurney," the doctor ordered, taking charge of the situation. Almost instantaneously, someone came forward with one, and they lifted Sam onto it.

Someone quickly checked for a pulse and heartbeat beat. "No pulse, doctor. No respirations."

"Code blue," someone called.

The doctor's authoritative voice cut through the din. "CPR STAT. Room four."

Placing a mask over Sam's mouth and nose, a nurse started squeezing the reservoir bag in rhythmic precision as a male nurse did chest compressions.

Dean followed as they rushed Sam to the exam room, listening and watching the flurry of activities, performed to save Sam's life. So many things were happening all at once, Dean's mottled brain had a hard time taking them all in. The nurses and doctor called out things in rapid succession, working together like a well-oiled machine.

"What happened, sir?" A triage nurse asked with pen and clipboard in hand, ready to take down a report of the incident. "When did he stop breathing?"

"Just stopped . . . almost made it . . . . and he just stopped," Dean mumbled, his terrified gaze never leaving his brother for a moment as the triage nurse continued to besiege him with questions he barely heard.

"Get his vitals and hook him up to a heart monitor," the petite blonde doctor dictated. "Hang a bag of O negative on the rapid infuser, then type and cross to match."

"BP 95/50. Pupils equal and reactive to light," A nurse relayed the information to the doctor.

"Multiple third degree burns, multiple lacerations to the chest and abdomen."

The doctor moved to stand at Sam's head. "Marlene, laryngoscope, 7.0 endotracheal tube, and suction." She elevated Sam's head, and opened his mouth. "Okay, suction."

Marlene quickly complied, suctioning Sam's mouth. The doctor grasped the laryngoscope in her left hand, spreading Sam's lips with her right, and inserted the blade, lifting upward and forward. "Okay, I'm in, bag him, and start on 100 oxygen."

Grabbing the stethoscope from around her neck, the doctor listened to each side of Sam's chest, then nodded to Marlene. Marlene wrapped adhesive tape around the tube, across Sam's cheek and around the back of his head fastening the other end of the tape around the tube.

"Crackles bi-laterally, possible pneumonia."

"Blunt force trauma to the stomach," the male nurse said. "Abdomen, rigid and distended. Possible internal bleeding."

"I need a portable chest x-ray, and we need to control this bleeding, and get him up to the OR," the doctor ordered, and several nurses hurried to comply. "Mark, who's on call in surgery?"

"Dr. Winestaff," the tall, brown-hair male nurse replied.

"Have him paged to the ER STAT."

The male nurse hurried to the phone and did as the doctor asked.

A few seconds later, Dean heard Dr. Winestaff's name being paged over the hospital intercom.

So engrossed in the life and death drama being enacted before him, he didn't notice the gray-haired female nurse speaking to him until she touched his arm.

"Are you all right, sir?" She studied him carefully. "You really need to come with me. You can't be in here." Her hand closed authoritatively on his arm. "I think we should have a doctor take a look at you."

Dean shook his head, never taking his eyes off Sam. "Not goin anywhere till I know my brother's gonna be okay."

"They're doing everything in their power to save your brother's life. Now let's take care of you."

"My job to save him," Dean mumbled, more to himself then to her. "Shoulda protected him better."

"Ventricular tachycardia," came an urgent voice.

"Defibrillator."

The male nurse handed the doctor two paddles, then squeezed clear gel on them. The doctor rubbed them together, held them over Sam's chest, and waited.

"Charging."

"Clear," the doctor hollered, and everyone stepped back from Sam as she delivered the shock.

Dean heard a strange thunking sound and Sam's back arched off the table.

The blonde doctor, turned her head and looked at the heart monitor. "Asystole . . .charge it again."

"Charging."

Hearing the steady buzzing of the heart monitor, Dean glanced at it, and saw a flat white line racing across the screen. Dean pushed away from the wall holding him upright, and limped toward his brother. The older nurse grabbed his arm, but he forcefully shrugged her hand off. "Come on, Sammy, fight for me. Don't you dare die."

"Get him out of here," the doctor shouted, not looking away from Sam.

"I'm tryin' Doctor Baker."

"Clear." Doctor Baker pressed the paddles against Sam's chest, delivering another shock.

Sam's back arched off the table again, then his body relaxed.

"Normal sinus rhythm," Mark said, and took the paddles from Doctor Baker.

"Okay, let's get him up to the OR."

"There ya go, Sammy, knew you could do it." Dean sighed in relief, knees buckling, he dropped to the floor, the last of his strength giving out. The room faded to a darkened blur, and Dean squinched his eyes, trying to stay awake. Weakly grasping the older nurse's hand, Dean glanced up at her. "D-don't let Sammy die — please don't let him. . . ." Dean's voice trailed off as his eyes slid closed, finally succumbing to his own injuries.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"_You can't kill evil, Dean, it always comes back. Always._" _Charlie tightened his grip on Sam's hair, yanking his head further back, and pressing a knife to his throat. "You should know that by now."_

_Shackled to the wall, mouth gagged, Dean viciously fought against the metal restraints around his ankles and wrists, trying desperately to break free and save Sam._

_Long curved metal prongs, Charlie laughingly called witch's spiders, hung suspended from the ceiling, clawed into either side of Sam's belly, and kept him upright even as Sam's knees buckled. Charlie jerked upward on the witch's spiders_, _and a scream escaped Sam's trembling lips as blood spilled from the deep gouging wounds. "Should've salt and burned me when you had the chance." Charlie chuckled maliciously. "Although I have to say I'm glad you didn't cause then I would never have gotten to see your face as I did this."_

_Charlie's gripped onto Sam's hair once more, and slashed Sam's throat open. Terrified, Sam's cry turn to a grotesque gurgling, gasping sputter as blood spilled down his chest. His body convulsed as he struggled to breathe. Sam's dull hazel eyes pleaded with Dean to help him, and then they slid closed, his body going limp, head drooping forward._

"Sammy!" Dean screamed, jolting forward in the hospital bed, searching around wildly for his brother, and a nurse who'd just walked into the room jumped, startled by the sudden outburst.

_Oh, God, it was just a nightmare. _Dean's body trembled as he wiped the sweat from his brow, then raked his hand through his damp hair, letting out a deep sigh of relief."Where's my brother? Is he okay? I wanna see him now."

The pretty young nurse with short wavy black hair, and sparkling gray eyes, rushed toward him, and placed a hand on his arm. "Calm down, sir, let me get your vitals, then I'll get the doctor for you."

"Don't think you understand." Dean glared, shrugging her hand away, he started to get out of the bed. "I'm gonna see him now, even if I have to tear this hospital apart to find him."

She hesitated for a moment, biting at her lower lip, and then nodded. "All right, I'll go get Doctor Baker if you promise to stay in bed."

Dean reluctantly agreed, leaning back against the pillow. The nurse left, promising she'd be back shortly with the doctor.

The moment the door closed behind her, Dean pulled off his covers, sat up, briefly noticed the cast around his leg, and slowly got out of bed, cringing as his put pressure on his injured foot. Grabbing hold of the metal IV stand with his uncasted hand, Dean used it as a makeshift crutch, and hobbled around the room searching for his clothes. _Damn it, what the hell would they have done with my clothes?_

The door creaking open, ended his fruitless search, and Dean swung to look at the doctor who had taken care of Sam.

"I heard you were awake." She glanced up from the clipboard she was holding, and noticing Dean was out of bed, she frowned. "Sir, you need to be in bed." The no-nonsense look in her dark green eyes, told Dean she wasn't going to take no for an answer. Setting her clipboard down on a table, she marched to Dean and carefully help him settle back into the hospital bed. "My name is Doctor Baker and I took care of your brother when you came into the ER yesterday. And your name is?"

Dean thought for a moment, trying to recall the name on his current fake driver's license and credit cards. "Dean Macmillan. . . . How's my brother?" Dean unconsciously held his breath waiting for her to respond.

Doctor Baker stared at him for several long seconds as if trying to figure out what to say. When she finally spoke, her voice was strong and authoritative. "Your brother is in the ICU right now. Complications arose from loss of blood due to his injuries and from pneumonia. Your brother went into cardiac arrest twice on the operating table, but we were able to stabilize him." She drew in a breath, and continued. "His spleen ruptured due to blunt force trauma, but Doctor Winestaff was able to successfully remove it."

As the doctor continued to speak, she examined Dean, first checking his blood pressure, listened to his heart and lungs, then took his temperature. "He is scheduled to undergo surgery in about an hour to repair the damage caused by the third degree burns."

Dean swallowed hard, his head swimming with all the information she was throwing at him. "How do they do that?" he managed to choke out, his voice low and strained.

"They'll take skin from a donor site, probably his thigh, and graft it to the burned areas."

Hearing what they planned to do to help his brother, Dean's stomach churned, tears stinging his eyes. "I need to see him."

"That's not possible at the moment, Dean. They're prepping him for surgery."

Dean grabbed her arm, eyes beseeching, he pleaded with her. "Please, even if it's just for minute. I have to know he's gonna be okay."

"I'm sorry, we can't risk any sort of cross-contamination. I promise, we'll let you know as soon as he is in recovery."

Doctor Baker headed to the table, grabbed her clipboard, wrote down Dean's vitals, and turned to look at him. "Look, I know you're worried about your brother, but you really need your rest." She flipped through the pages of Dean's chart, and shook her head, her long blonde ponytail swishing back and forth. "You lost a fair amount of blood, and just underwent surgery yourself to repair the damage to your hand, wrist, and knife wound to your shoulder. Not to mention the puncture wound and broken metatarsal bone in your foot."

"Don't care about that . . . only care if Sammy is gonna be okay."

The doctor gave a curt nod of her head as she eyed Dean. "I thought you might say that, but you really need to start caring about getting better because your brother is going to need you to be strong for him as he recovers." She took several pamphlets off the clipboard, strode to Dean, and handed them to him. "These pamphlets will help explain your brother's treatment and also will prepare you for after he is released from the hospital. Burn victims and victims of extreme violence tend to suffer physical, mental and emotional effects from their injuries. Sam is going to need you more than ever before, and that means you have to take care of yourself now so you can be there for him."

"I'll try." Dean stared at her, teeth clenched, the muscle in his cheek jerking as he angrily thought of the man who had so viciously tortured Sam. The nightmare Dean had came back to him full force. Sam would never feel safe if he knew there was the possibility of Charlie's spirit coming back to finish what he had started. _I have to salt and burn Charlie's bones, and I have to do it before Sam gets out of the hospital. _

"I need my cell phone."

"Cell phones are not permitted in the hospital, but I'll have them turn on a phone for you." Doctor Baker turned to leave, but then stopped and said, "By the way, the police have been here twice, and said they would be back sometime tonight or tomorrow to take a report."

"Thanks." Dean tried to smile, but failed miserably, his lips pressed against his teeth in a grim line, brows drawn into a deep scowl. "Good to know."

"You're welcome." She turned and headed out the door, shutting it behind her.

_Damn it, we are so screwed, Sammy._


	13. Chapter 13

_so not too bad, two chappy of Darkness in one week, making up for time lost!! hope everyone enjoys!! please let me now what you think, reviews mean everything to me, and help me know if i'm getting it right!! thanks again, bambers;)_

_Chapter Thirteen_

Bobby was the only person Dean could recall that he trusted completely, and knew their long time friend would be there if ever they needed them. Dean needed him now. He also needed someone else, someone he didn't know if he could trust, hell he didn't even know if she would agree to help, but he was desperate.

He picked up the phone and placed a call to Bobby, tapping his fingers nervously on the phone waiting for Bobby to answer.

"Hello." Bobby answered with his usual gruff tone, and it immediately set Dean at ease to hear his voice.

"Bobby, it's Dean."

"Dean, what's the matter?"

Dean thought it odd that the old hunter could always tell there was a problem just by Dean's tone. "It's Sam."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's hurt bad — almost died. Bobby, he's so messed up, I don't know what to do." Dean was quiet for a moment thinking of his brother having to undergo yet another round of surgery. His stomach twisted as he recalled the long slashing burn wounds covering Sam's chest. No matter what the doctors did for his brother, Dean knew Sam would be permanently and horrifically scarred for life. "Can't fix this . . . He'll never be the same again."

"Where are you? I'll be on the next plane there," Bobby replied without hesitation.

An instantaneous rush of relief washed over Dean, knowing his father's most trusted friend was on his way to help. "Idaho, somewhere near Kellogg. Not sure what the name of the hospital is, I'll call you when I find out."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Bobby."

Dean hung up, and then dialed the number for information.

"Name and city please," came a woman's voice on the other end of the line.

"Dr. Lee. Rivergrove, Oregon."

An automated voice came on the line giving the number, and offered an auto-connect by pressing one. Dean jabbed the button and heard the phone ring.

"Hello," came a feminine voice, Dean faintly remember as belonging to the doctor from the Oregon medical clinic. He hesitated, not sure if he was making the right decision, and almost hung up.

"Hello," Dr. Lee said again. "Is anyone there."

"Is this Doctor Lee?" Dean finally replied.

"Yes, it is, can I help you?"

"Um, not sure if you remember me, but my name is Dean." _Yeah, like she could ever forget Sam and I after our last visit to her town. _"Think I used the name Billy Gibbons of the US Marshals, the last time we met."

The line was silent for a moment, and Dean almost thought she'd hung up on him, until she finally spoke again. "Don't think I'll ever forget you, your brother, or what happened here for as long as I live."

"Look, I wouldn't be calling, but I can't think of anyone else who can help my brother."

"Did the virus come back?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern. "If it did, I don't know how I can help."

"No, nothin' like that." Dean paused, wondering again if he was making the right decision trusting a virtual stranger with his brother's life. _What choice do I have? He can't stay here. Even if the police don't figure out who we are right away, they will eventually. _"He was badly injured, and I need someone to take care of him."

"Can't you take him to a hospital?"

"He's in the hospital right now, but with the kind of work we do, it's definitely not a place he can stay at until he's well enough to leave." It was the closest Dean had ever come to telling an outsider what he and his brother did for a living, and he prayed it wasn't a mistake.

"So you're both fugitives?" she rightly surmised. "And you want me to help you?"

"I wouldn't ask if there was anyone else." Dean hated the idea of having to ask for her help, hated putting himself and Sam in danger of being caught by seeking help outside their close knit group of hunter friends, but he had no other choice. "Please, I've never asked anyone for anything my whole life. . . . And God, you have no idea how hard it is to do so now, but I can't take of Sam by myself. I wish I could, but I can't — so I'll beg if I have to."

"The way I see it, Dean, you and your brother probably saved my life that night at the clinic." She paused and drew in a breath, slowly releasing it. When she spoke again, her voice was strong and reassuring. "So, I can't really refuse to help you now when you need me. If you bring your brother here, I'll take care of him to the best of my ability."

Dean released the pent breath, he hadn't realized he'd been holding while waiting for her answer. "Thanks, Doctor Lee. I'll pay you back, I swear to God, I will."

"You don't owe me a thing. It's my way of thanking you."

"I'll bring Sammy as soon as I'm sure he's stable enough to travel."

"I'll be expecting you."

"Thanks again."

"Don't mention it," she said, then hung up.

Dean set the phone down, stood, grabbed hold of his IV stand, and slowly hobbled to the door, cursing the cast on his foot for impeding his progress. He needed to take care of Charlie's remains before Sam woke up from surgery. _I probably have a good two to three hours before he comes out of surgery and they allow me to see him. I won't have him waking up thinking Charlie might still be able to get to him._

Easing open the door, Dean peered out, and saw a few nurses milling around at the nurse's station. He waited until no one was looking in his direction, then left the room, heading in the opposite direction.

Silently slipping into a room marked Doctor's lounge, Dean limped to a wall of lockers. He searched through everyone until he found a pair of doctor's scrubs, and changed into them, ripping one of the pant legs up the side so it would fit over his cast. Slowly, he pulled out the IV in his right wrist, holding it upright and putting pressure on it, until it stopped bleeding, then he slipped on a white lab coat.

_Okay, so not exactly looking like doctor with a cast on my hand and foot, but it'll have to do for now._

Leaving the IV stand behind, Dean left the lounge, wincing and groaning as each step sent pain shooting through his foot. Sweat beaded on his forehead and the nape of his neck as he made his way to the down the hall toward the elevator at the far end.

Once inside the elevator, Dean pressed the button for the parking garage, and collapsed against the wall, trembling. _Come on, Dean, you can do this. Pull yourself together. You have to be back here before Sammy wakes up. Salt and burn now, crash later._

The bell dinged for the parking garage, the sliding doors opened, and Dean stepped out. Soft amber light illuminated the parking garage. Icy air bit into his exposed skin, and he was thankful for the minimal protection the lab coat offered.

He limped toward the entrance of the parking garage, headed for the emergency parking lot where Charlie's car was parked. After a few minutes of struggling, but not getting very far, Dean glanced around at the nearly deserted lot, not even half-full with cars, and strode to the nearest one. He tried the door and found it unlocked. _Thank God, for trusting people._

Dean slid behind the wheel, reached under the steering wheel, pulled out the wires and hot-wired the vehicle. Revving the engine, Dean back up, threw the car in drive and headed out of the garage. _Okay, so get the Impala, then head to Charlie's. This is going much better than I'd anticipated._

Within a half hour, Dean was behind the wheel of his own car, driving toward the very last place on earth, he'd ever wanted to be again. He'd made sure he remembered how to get back to Charlie's underground bunker, knowing he would eventually have to come back. The drive was uneventful, and it seemed as if he'd gotten to the rundown house with barn and bunker in back a lot faster then it took to get to the hospital.

Dean pulled into the long driveway, his stomach twisting in knots as he recalled Sam's screams of pain as Charlie sliced through his flesh with the damn Spanish Tickler. Dean's side twinged uncomfortably, reminding him of his own run in with those damn sharp prongs.

Stopping the Impala in front of the barn, Dean put the gear in park, turned off the engine and carefully slid out of the car. Awkwardly, he made his way to the back of the car and popped the trunk, grabbing the gas can, flashlight and salt, he clutched them to his chest with his good hand. Closing the hood, he began the slow trek to the bunker.

The heavy snow made the walk around the barn all the more precarious and Dean slipped and stumbled, falling forward. He dropped everything, as he reached out to catch himself. His broken hand hit the ground first, sending shockwaves of pain up his arm, the knife wound to his shoulder burning as the stitches tore loose.

"Sonuvabitch." He groaned, squeezing his eyes closed, breathing heavily, waiting for the ache to subside. Dean sat there for several minutes, the pain never lessening. _Okay, come on, Dean, get up. You have to finish this and get back to Sam. _

Slowly, Dean eased himself into a standing position, snatched up the gas can, flashlight and salt and trudged the rest of the way to the bunker. Turning on his flashlight, Dean grabbed hold of the railing and headed down the darkened steps leading into the underground dwelling.

The moment he reached the landing, the scent of rotting flesh and putrid mold assailed Dean's senses. The air was thick and laden with the smell of death, and Dean nearly gagged. As he took a breath, a plume of wispy white trailed from his mouth and nose. The room was definitely much colder now than it had been the last time Dean was there, and it immediately set his mind into hunter mode.

The same dim light lit the expansive underground room, flickering ominously as Dean limped toward the body sprawled out on the ground. Dean stopped dead in his tracks, and peered around for any other signs that Charlie might've become a vengeful spirit. Seeing and hearing nothing more than rats skittering across the cement floor, near the body, Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

Finding nothing more to signify Charlie's return from the dead, Dean edged his way to the corpse and shined his flashlight on Charlie. What he found twisted his stomach into writhing knots. An icy chill shivered its way up his spine. _No, it's not possible._

"Sonuva — "

He swivelled around, shining his flashlight on every corner of the room, and it was then that he noticed all the pictures of Sam and him were missing. The lock of Sam's hair and his prescription bottle were gone as well. Dean shined the light back on the body of a young man who couldn't have been much older then he was. The man's throat was sliced open, his belly splayed open, rats feasting on his intestines. Another rat tore away at the dead man's lidless, hollowed-out eye sockets, munching on pieces of flesh.

Next to the body, written in the man's blood, were the words, '_Wish I was here to see the look on your face'. _

_I killed him. I know I killed him._ Dean shook his head in utter disbelief, his stomach heaving threateningly. _I saw him die. He couldn't still be alive — it's not possible._

A bloody envelope with Dean's name on it rested on the man's chest. Dean snatched it up, scattering the rats, who scurried off in all directions. He ripped it open, took the letter out and read it.

_Dean,_

_No doubt you are standing there with gas can and salt in hand ready to burn a corpse, so I provided one for you. No need to thank me. Call it a parting gift. You must be really kicking yourself right about now for not finishing the job when you had the chance._

_So, you're probably asking yourself, how a dead man, got up and walked away. Well, I made it my business to know everything about you boys, including your dealings with demons. A stupid man like your father makes a deal, Dean, a smart man makes a wager. You see when I said I won, it meant I won the wager. And here's the kicker, it's all because of you that I am walking amongst the living. Ain't that a bitch._

_I came across a certain yellow-eyed demon who was more than willing to make a bet, one I'm not sure he thought he could lose. The wager? I bet him that I could make you commit murder without remorse or regret. An act of revenge. I warned you revenge had consequences_. _By you killing me, I won. Although, the demon seemed pleased that within the act of revenge, you opened yourself up to his kind of darkness._

_So, what did I win? Well, I'm still breathing for one thing. But the really cool thing, the thing that made this all so worthwhile, is the special little talents the demon bestowed upon me. Talents the demon said your brother refuses to embrace. But not me, Dean, I look forward to using them._

_As for my unfinished business with you and Sam. I will be back. Six months, Dean — six months and I will find you and finish the job, once I've mastered my newfound abilities. Now, I really must be off to kill the brother of the young man lying dead on the floor. _

_Say hello to Sammyboy for me. I'm sure he'll be happy to know I survived._

_Till we meet again, _

_Two-finger Charlie_

_PS . . . I think I'll swing by the hospital myself while you're here to say my own goodbyes to __Sammy . . . much more personal that way. Remember what I've said more than once before, Dean. Anytime . . . anywhere. Your brother first and then you._

Torrents of fear surged through Dean's trembling body, his heartbeat slamming against the wall of his chest as he read the last line of the letter. He'd left Sam alone, alone and vulnerable. Charlie had gotten to Sam before while he was in the hospital, and Dean was certain he could do it again.

_Oh God, Sammy. Why the hell did I leave you alone. _Dropping the gas can and salt, Dean bolted for the steps, mindless of the stark pain rushing through his aching body.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Dr. Lee was from the episode Croatoan...not sure i mentioned it before, but will again, all episodes and characters from season two are fair game for this story...thanks again for reading, hope you enjoyed the little twist at the end!! bambers;)_


	14. Chapter 14

_so, this chappy was tough...hopefully i got the emotions right!! thanks for reading...let me know what you think!! thanks again, bambers;)_

_Chapter Fourteen_

Half-running, half-hobbling, Dean bolted through the sliding double doors at the front entrance of the hospital, nearly colliding into several people as he rushed to the information desk. A woman carrying a small child, darted to the side just in time to avoid a collision. The little girl in her arms started crying, and the woman huffed and glared at Dean, but he scarcely noticed.

Reaching the information desk, Den slammed his fist on the counter, garnering the attention of a portly man wearing glasses. The man glanced at him, cleared his throat and politely asked, "Can I help you, sir?"

"My brother, Sam Wi — Macmillian, what room is he in?" Dean clutched his side, bending slightly, trying to steady his breathing.

The man shuffled through his papers, his index finger trailing down the list of names of patients until he found Sam's name.

"He's in post-op right now, sir. They'll be moving him to the burn unit shortly."

"Has anyone else been here looking for him?"

"As a matter of fact, there was, about twenty minutes ago. Tall guy, with scars across his cheek."

"What'd you tell him?" A mixture of dread and fear for his brother's life rose upward from Dean's stomach, coiled around his heart, and constricted his breathing. He could sense Charlie was there somewhere, watching him, his mocking laughter echoing from somewhere just out of sight.

"Same thing I told you."

"Listen," Dean began in a curt, abrupt manner. "No one, and I mean _absolutely _no one is to see my brother without me knowing about it first. Do you understand?"

The man nodded, leaned over and grabbed a thick manila envelope and handed it to Dean. "He said you would say that, and told me to give this to you."

Dean took the envelope, tucked it under his arm, thanked the man and limped away toward the elevator. Once inside, he hit the button for the fourth floor, leaned against the wall for support, and ripped open the envelope. A silver cross slipped out and dropped to the ground, not making a sound on the carpeted floor. He stooped and retrieved the cross belonging to Madison, looked at it for a moment, shaking his head in disgust, then pocketed it. Dean pulled out a blank sheet of paper, and scratched his head, wondering why Charlie hadn't written anything.

The lights flickered, and Dean felt a jolt as the elevator came to an abrupt halt. He hit the button several times, but nothing happened. "Aw, come on, damn it." Dean slammed his hand against the sliding doors, to no avail. A cold chill swept into the small compartment, and Dean shivered despite his efforts to remain calm.

Sudden excruciating pain ripped through his shoulder, and side. Dean muffled a cry of pain as blood seeped from his wounds, his stitches tearing wide open. Wincing, Dean drew his arms closer to his body, hugging his stomach. Blood flowed freely from his open wounds, spilling down his chest and stomach, and simultaneously words written in dark crimson appeared on the page.

_Dean,_

_A promise is a promise. I told you six months and that is what I will give you. No sense in rubbing your impending deaths in your face, now is there. But the truth is, I already mastered a few little tricks and just couldn't wait to give_ _you a bit of a preview of what's to come. Oh, by the way, how's that foot doing. . . . _

The moment Charlie wrote about Dean's foot, it felt as if he'd slammed the poker through it again, only this time it was searing hot. Knees buckling, Dean crashed to the floor in a heap, groaning as the invisible poker twisted viciously, blood spilling from his cast and soaking into the dark blue carpet. Malicious laughter reverberated off the walls of the tiny room, and it felt as if the walls were closing in on him.

A strange buzzing filled Dean's ears as rapidly lost consciousness, but just before he passed out, he heard the sound of Charlie's voice as clear as if he were standing there beside Dean.

"You will hear me coming as if I'm a whisper in the dark. There will be no where you can run. No place to hide. And if you thought I hurt your precious Sammy now, just wait until next time."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Someone gently tapped Dean on the shoulder, and his eyes fluttered open. Slowly, the hospital room, and the nurse with short black wispy hair, came into focus.

"How'd I get here?" he mumbled weakly, trying to sit up, but she gently pressed her hand against his chest, stopping him.

"Think the real question is, how did you tear open all your stitches, and re-injure your foot?"

"Dunno." Dean's eyes slid closed, his entire body ached, his foot throbbing relentlessly. The last thing he wanted or needed at the moment, was anyone asking questions about what had happened in the elevator. Quickly glancing at her badge and noting her name, he changed the subject. "Darlene, my brother, I need to see him."

"I thought you might." Darlene smiled sweetly, dimples appearing in her cheeks. "Just let me get a wheelchair for you. Doctor's orders," she added, before he had a chance to argue. "No more hobbling around on that injured foot or you could do permanent damage."

"Just take me to my brother and I promise to be the best damn patient you got."

"All right, I'll be right back." She left and returned shortly with a wheelchair, and helped Dean onto it.

Dean would never admit it, least of all to Sam, but he really needed her help at that moment. His entire body trembled with the minimal effort it took to get to the chair from the bed. Sweat prickled at his scalp and the nape of his neck as he slid over onto the wheelchair.

Once settled, Darlene hooked his IV up to a metal post attached to the back of the chair, got behind Dean and pushed the wheelchair out the door, and toward the elevator. She chatted away, not noticing Dean increasing discomfort at the thought of having to be trapped in the elevator again. He cringed, his good hand wrapping tightly around the handrail. He felt himself pushing backward in the seat, a feeling of panic nearly overwhelming him. _Come on, Dean, get your shit together. You can't have Sammy seeing you like this. _

The bell dinged, and the doors of the elevator, slid open. Dean's apprehension increased, his chest heaving as he took short panted breaths. She rolled the chair inside and the doors shut behind them. He squeezed his eyes shut, as they started to move downward. _It's just an elevator . . . just a freakin elevator. For God's sake, I fight freakin demons for a living, I should be able to handle this. _

The elevator came to a halt on the second floor, and Darlene pushed Dean out, turned left and headed toward a red sign with the words, Park Ridge Burn Unit, painted over the double doors leading to the ward.

Instead of feeling relief at being out of the ride from hell, Dean's anxiety increased the closer they got to the door. His heart hammered away at the thought of having to see his brother. _What the hell do I say to him? How am I supposed to make this be okay? _

At the doors, he slammed his foot down hard against the floor, stopping the wheelchair. "I-I don't know if I can do this."

"Sure you can," Darlene softly reassured. "You're brother needs you."

Dean shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. "You don't understand . . . was my job to — I saw those burns . . .saw how they covered. . . . God, what am I supposed to do?"

Darlene came around and knelt beside him, and took his hand in hers. "I know what happened to your brother was horrible, but he's still the same person, and he needs you now more than ever before."

Looking into her gray eyes, Dean swallowed hard, a single tear slipped unheeded down his cheek. "What if I can't be what he needs? I mean, I couldn't protect him . . . what if I fail at this too?"

"Guess you'll never know one way or another just sitting out here, but it's up to you." She stood and moved behind the wheelchair. "So what's it gonna be? Head back to your room or go where your heart really wants to be?"

Inclining his head toward the door, Dean asked, "What can I expect to see?"

"Well, the grafts will be covered with special bandages, and there will be an elastic netting around his chest and abdomen to keep them in place. He has to keep them on for at least five days so the grafts take." She took a deep calming breath, and then continued, "He also has stitches on the side of his neck, chest and abdomen, from the knife wounds, but those are also covered to prevent infection from setting in."

Dean nodded in understanding. He sat there for a moment longer, gathering his courage."Okay . . . I'm ready to go in."

Darlene hit the wide button on the side of the doors, and they swung open. Once inside, Darlene gave Dean a mask, gown, and surgical cap to wear. "You have to put these on before you can go in."

Mutely, Dean did as he was told, and Darlene also donned the hospital attire, and then took him into his brother's room. She rolled the wheelchair up to the bed, and put the brake on. "I'll be back in a little while," she said, and then turned and left.

Dean sat staring at his brother for the longest time, not knowing how to begin. Sam lay with his eyes closed, and if it hadn't been for a single tear that slipped down the side of his face, Dean might've thought he was sleeping.

Darlene had been accurate in her description of what Sam would look like. With the blanket set low against his hips, Dean saw there was barely an inch of skin left uncovered by bandages on his upper body. His right hand was in a cast, and his left wrapped in thick gauze. His brother's right eye was swollen, ugly bluish-purple bruises rimmed it and trailed downward across his cheek.

Dean reached out to touch his brother's arm, hesitated, then lowered it to his side. "Hey, Sammy." When Sam didn't respond to his voice, Dean tried again. "Sam, come on, I know you're not sleeping. Open your eyes for me."

Sam turned his head to the side, away from Dean. Dean could hear the soft muffled sound of his brother sobbing, and noticed the slight tremors coursing through Sam's body.

This time, without reservation, Dean placed a reassuring hand on his brother's arm, squeezing it gently. "It's gonna be okay. Look at me, Sammy, I swear to you, everything's going to be okay."

Sam shook his head, still refusing to open his eyes or to look in Dean's direction.

Dean lowered his head, searching for the right words to make things better, to make the pain his brother was suffering go away, but nothing came to him. _I knew I couldn't do this. Nothing I say will take away the pain he's feeling. _"Tell me what to say, Sam . . . tell me what to do. I'll do whatever you ask, just don't give up on me."

Sam turned his head, glanced down at his own chest, and then looked at Dean, his hazel eyes shimmering with tears. A profound and deep sadness reached the very depths of them, and in that one glance, Dean's world shattered. His little brother didn't speak, he didn't have to. With one single look, Sam conveyed all that was in his heart.

"Sammy, I — " Dean began, but words failed him. His well-placed walls crumbled around him, leaving his ragged and torn heart exposed. _Oh Christ, I'm so sorry, Sammy. I was supposed to protect you . . . I tried, I swear_ _to God, I did. When I heard you scream, begging me to help you, I fought so damn hard, knowing what he was doing to you. _Dean shook his head, in self-disgust. _Doesn't matter, this is all my fault._

"Bobby's on his way here," Dean said, searching for a middle ground, hoping Sam might find some reassurance in having the old hunter there. He saw immediately that it was a mistake.

His brother paled considerably as he weakly nodded. Lower jaw trembling and lips quivering, Sam turned away.

"Pl-please, you gotta talk to me," Dean's voice hitched, a painful lump forming in his throat. Breathing hard against the surgical mask, Dean brushed away the tears dampening it. "I screwed up, Sammy, and I know I can't fix it, and I don't know what to do — feel like I'm fallin' apart here."

"Want you to go. Saw what he did to me . . . don't want you to look at me — don't want you to see."

"Sammy." Dean lightly touched Sam on the arm, and Sam flinched , shrugging Dean's hand away.

"Please, I'm beggin' you to go."

Dean drew on his inner strength, the thing that kept him fighting long after his body gave out, his last line of defense, and resolutely stood his ground. "Not goin' anywhere, Sammy."

Sam's face crumpled, tears cascading down his cheeks. "Oh God, Dean, H-he tore me apart . . . why the hell did he tear me apart — What did I do so wrong?"

"You didn't do anything."

His brother shook his head back and forth against the pillow. "Must've done something."

"Blame Charlie — blame me, but don't you dare blame yourself for this. I won't let you."

The sad desolate look reappeared in Sam's eyes, and Dean could see his little brother building his own wall to push out everyone, including Dean. "Why didn't you just let me die . . . wish you had. Don't think I can live like this."

"You don't mean that, Sammy. Please, tell me you don't mean that."

"He'll be back. They always come back. Can't face him again."

And there it was, the look of crippling fear on Sam's face, Dean thought he'd never see on his brother. Dean dreaded the thought of his brother fearing anything. Sam had always been so strong, even if he hid it beneath a quiet unassuming manner. But, Charlie had managed to do in a short amount of time, what years of hunting couldn't, he destroyed Sam, mind, body and soul.

"He's dead. I salted and burned that sonuvabitch, and watched until there was nothing left of him but ash." The lie slid effortlessly from Dean's mouth. He knew it was wrong. Knew he only had six months to figure out a way to stop Charlie before he got to Sam again. But if Dean was going to rebuild what Sam had lost, he needed to start now, and to hell with the consequences.


	15. Chapter 15

_okay, so next chappy is up...hopefully everyone will like how Dean plans to deal with Charlie!! almost finished!! i can't believe it!! thanks for reading and let me know what you think!! i do so live for reviews!! thanks again for reading!!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Fifteen_

"Are you outta yer freakin mind, Dean?" Bobby asked for what must've been the tenth time in so many minutes. He leaned against the windowsill of Dean's hospital room, with arms crossed, staring incredulously at the oldest Winchester. "Can't let you do this, it's just plain buckets of crazy."

"Can't stop me. Bobby, it's the only way." Dean glanced briefly at Bobby, and then returned his attention to organizing the items he'd asked the old hunter to get for him, making sure he had everything he needed.

"There's got to be another way. There's always another way." Bobby pushed away from the windowsill and went to sat in a chair beside the bed. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on his knees, clasping his hands together. "Yer gonna get yourself killed, then what? Sam can't do this without you."

"My fault. Have to make it right." Dean carefully kept his gaze averted so as to not let Bobby know how badly he was hurting inside. The walls he'd built up over time, had taken a serious beating and were too fragile, and he feared the older man would see right through him.

"How's this your fault? Sam's alive because of you."

"If I hadn't killed Charlie in the first place, he wouldn't be back now all ubbered up on supernatural abilities."

"You couldn't have known that, Dean."

Dean stopped what he was doing, and angrily swiped his hand across the blanket, sending various talismans, charms, candles and other ritual items clattering to the floor. "Damn it, I lied to Sammy. And it's the only thing he's holding onto right now — so I'll do what I have to do."

Scrubbing his hand across his scruffy beard, the old hunter, nodded, conceding defeat. "So do you got a plan or is this straight outta the Winchester make-it-up-as-you-go-along handbook?"

"It's worked for us before."

"It's almost got you all killed before too, as I recall."

"I got a plan."

"Dean."

Dean could never lie to Bobby, for some reason the older man could always tell when he wasn't being entirely truthful. "All right, so I don't have a plan exactly."

"Then I'm comin' with you."

"No, you're not. You're staying here to watch out for Sammy." Dean slowly eased himself off the bed, drawing in a sharp intake of air when his throbbing foot touched the ground. "Sonuvabitch," he swore under his breath, knowing it didn't go unnoticed by Bobby.

"You do this alone, you're gonna be a sittin' duck. You can barely stand, much less run if need be."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now can you help me get this stuff together so I can get this over with?"

The old hunter shook his head disapprovingly, grumbling under his breath, but nonetheless, he still stooped and gathered up all the things Dean had thrown on the floor in his anger. "Still don't like it."

"Yeah, I know. Neither do I.."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The bell of the service elevator dinged for the lowest level of the hospital, and a very shaky Dean wheeled the wheelchair out into the boiler room. _God, if I never go on another elevator ride, it will still be too damn soon. _Grabbing the salt he'd brought with him, Dean quickly poured a trail in front of the elevator door, found a study metal pole and wedged it between the doors so they wouldn't close, then pushed forward into the darkened lower level of the hospital.

Gray metal duct work ran the length of the room, dim lights barely illuminating them against the bleak gray walls. Dean wove around various obstacles, thick sturdy metal poles, gated generators, and workbenches. Finding an out-of-way spot hidden behind a mechanical room, he stopped, slowly stood, made a salt circle around himself, and knelt down inside it.

He lit the candles he'd brought and laid them out. Dean grabbed the chalk he'd brought and began drawing the Sigil of Azazel on the floor, setting the candles inside of each of the circles he'd drawn. _This has to rank up there as one of the dumbest things I've ever done._

Once finished, he took a calming breath and then began chatting in Latin. The dim lights began to flicker, the scent of sulfur filling the heated room. Dean glanced around, waiting for any sign of the Yellow-Eyed demon, and heard his footsteps scuffling across the smooth ground before actually seeing him.

"What is it about you Winchester's and dark boiler rooms in hospitals?" the demon asked, stepping into view. He was dressed as a worker, with short scruffy hair and thick, bulging biceps. The name badge stitched to his shirt read Charlie. Dean stared at it for a moment and then scowled. The demon smiled, glanced at it, and then at Dean. "Thought it was only fitting."

The demon took a step toward Dean, noticed the salt circle and stood his ground. "So come to make a deal on Sammy's behalf? Not doing so good is he? Could make him all better for ya . . . no hideous scars. No lifetime of humiliation an' degradation. Not to mention all the pain."

"Naw, heard you were more of a wagering demon these days . . . so I thought I'd make one of my own."

"A wager. Now I am intrigued." A sinister grin played across his features, yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"I knew you would be." Quirking a brow, Dean met and held his demonic gaze. "But then I thought, it wouldn't be quite fair seein' how I already knew I would win."

"Playin' games with demons, never a smart thing to do, Dean." The demon glanced down at the circle surrounding Dean, and a gust of steamy air scattered crystals across the floor. He gestured toward the disappearing ring of salt. "Especially, if that is the best protection you've got."

"Never said that was the only protection I had." Dean reached in the pockets of his robe, and pulled out a multitude of amulets and ancient talismans. "Figured at least one of these would work on you."

Pursing his lips, the demon eyed the charms for a moment then returned his attention to Dean. "Why did you summon me if not to make a deal or a wager?"

"Guess I just wanted to see the look on your face."

"The look on my face?" The demon folded his arms across his expansive chest, waiting for Dean to continue.

"Yeah, Charlie said he played you like a finely tuned violin, and made a fool outta you. Does that make you his bitch?" He noted the dark scowl forming on the demon's face at his taunting, and added, "Just wanted to see for myself, how far you've fallen in the ranks. Do you call him master now?"

Dean knew the protective amulets and talismans would only keep the demon at bay for so long, and he still hadn't hit on the nerve that would drive the Yellow-eyed demon to go after Charlie. "Do you jump through hoops for him, Sparky? Cause I gotta tell ya, I'd like to see that," he taunted, chuckling. "Said he's setting his sights on a much bigger prize once he's mastered his new abilities. I'm thinkin' he means you."

"You lie."

"Now there's a fight I'd pay good money to see . . . course I'd have to bet on Charlie, cause dude, as a mere mortal, he did more to mess us up than you ever could've done."

The demon's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Dean. The wind kicked up to torrential force. Duct work broke free from the ceiling and came crashing down, nearly landing on top of Dean, but he quickly rolled to the side, then slid backward to avoid being hit as another piece came crumpling to the ground.

"What's the matter?" Dean shouted above the din of noise created by the wind and falling objects. "Does it bother you that Charlie managed to do in a short amount of time, what you couldn't do in all these years?" Something heavy struck him from behind, and Dean was propelled forward over the downed duct work, coming to rest at the demon's feet. Dean glanced up at him, eyes gleaming with hatred. "Charlie's gonna get ya," Dean sneered contemptuously.

"We'll see about that." The demon dragged Dean to his feet, bashed a beefy fist into Dean's left eye, and then threw him across the room. Dean slammed into the wall full-force, knocking the wind out of him. "No one ever makes a fool of me."

"Too late." Dean swiped away the blood dripping into his left eye with his hand, then slowly got to his feet, using the wall for support and putting most of his weight on his uninjured foot. He edged toward the elevator, never taking his eyes off the demon. "Think what you took was called a sucker's bet."

The Yellow-eye demon glared at Dean, then waved his hand to the side, and sent Dean careening through the air. Something sharp dug into Dean's back as he slid down yet another wall, and he groaned, feeling his hospital gown quickly dampening with blood.

Luckily, his latest bumper car trip across the room had managed to get him within a few feet of the elevator. Not even bothering to try to stand, Dean crawled to it, and climbed inside, careful not to break the salt line. With his last stores of strength, Dean yanked out the pole, keeping the door open, and pressed the button for the fourth floor. As the doors slid closed, Dean smirked at the glowering demon, and then passed out cold.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean blinked several times, then opened his eyes to look at Bobby. He touched the bandage on his forehead, and winced. Taking a shallow staggered breath, he groaned as pain shot through his back.

"You know," Bobby began, with a slight grin on his face. "Most people come to a hospital to get better, but then again, they're not Winchester's."

"Yeah, always hated hospitals."

Bobby chuckled. "So, five stitches in your head, another twenty-two in your back, one cracked rib, and a multitude of bruises, I'd say things went pretty well?"

"Was just thinkin' the same thing myself."

Readjusting his baseball cap so it sat low on his brow, Bobby sat on the bed beside Dean, and scrubbed his hand across his beard. "You think ol' yellow-eyes went for it then?"

Cocking a brow, Dean grimaced. He squinched his eyes closed, and gently kneaded his temples with his thumb and index fingers. "I'm thinkin' Charlie's days are pretty much numbered."

"Good to know." Bobby looked at Dean for a second, and then shifted his gaze away, and Dean could tell there was something the old hunter didn't want to tell him.

"What is it?" Dean's stomach clenched, fearing something was wrong with Sam. "Sammy?"

"Naw, he's doing as well as can be expected." Bobby was quiet again, as he stood and shuffled around the room aimlessly.

"Out with it, Bobby. What's the matter?"

"Well, I hate being the bearer of any more bad news, but the police are here again, and this time they said they weren't leavin' till they talked to you."

Any relief Dean felt at having taken care of Charlie, disappeared, knowing he couldn't safely move Sam from the hospital for at least three more days. "Think they know who we are?"

"Can't be sure, but it doesn't look good for you boys."

Dean thought about it for a moment, and then a smile lit across his features. "Okay, we stall them for as long as we can, till Sam can be moved and then I think I got a plan." His smile widened. "Yeah, definitely got a plan."


	16. Chapter 16

_So, i'm thinking one more chapter to go just to wrap things up!! hopefully everyone enjoys!! let me know what you think...bambers;)_

_Chapter Sixteen_

"So tell us again, Mr. Macmillian, what happened to you and your brother?" asked an officer with dark wavy brown hair, and dull blue-gray eyes.

Dean lay in his hospital bed, loudly slurping orange jell-o, not bothering to look up at either officer interrogating him. "You know, they say hospital food sucks, but this is damn good jell-o." He held out the small container to one of them. "Want some? I already had like ten of them." He smiled sheepishly. "What can I say, the nurses here just love me."

"Look, Mr. Macmillian," the other sandy-haired, officer interjected, with a strong, authoritative tone. "We checked out your story, and no one in or around the movie theater can recall seeing either you or your brother for the night in question. And what with the subsequent injuries you sustained since being admitted to the hospital, we have a have a strong suspicion there's something you aren't tell us."

"Told you what happened two times yesterday, three times the day before, and once the day before that. Don't know how much more help I can be."

The sandy-haired officer, eyed him suspiciously. "So you can't tell us anymore more about the two assailants beside one was taller than the other."

"Think one of them might've had bad breath." Dean chuckled.

The dark-haired officer with a name badge that read, Connors, stopped taking notes, and glanced up at Dean."Your brother almost died, sir. I would think you would be taking this a little more seriously."

In an instant, Dean's expression and tone turned deadly. "Officer Connors, you have no idea how seriously I'm taking this."

The other officer named, Edmundston, was quick to come back with, "If that's the case, then why do I have the feeling you're giving us the run-around?"

Setting his jell-o down on the tray, Dean brusquely raked his fingers through his hair. "Look, we were at the movies — "

"What movie, sir?"

"Ghost Rider . . . Nicolas Cage, Sam Elliott, bad-ass motorcycle, need I say more."

"Then what happened?"

"We were walking back to my car after the movie was over, and two guys jumped us."

"And yet, they didn't steal either yours or your brother's wallets? Why do you think that is?"

Dean shrugged. "Not very smart criminals?"

"Or maybe you're hiding something from us," Edmundston said.

"What would I be hiding."

"Maybe a criminal record of your own," Connors quickly supplied. "Just so you know, we are checking into that. Haven't found anything yet, but you never know what kinda skeletons you'll uncover if you dig deep enough."

"Well, as long as you salt and burn them, once their dug up, I'm good with that."

"What?" both men said simultaneously.

Dean chuckled at the befuddled looks on their faces. "Nothin' just tryin' to lighten the mood in here."

A knock on the door, stopped the officers from asking any more questions. A woman, wearing a dark blue business suit, pushed the door open, strode determinedly to Officer Edmundston, and shook his hand. "Officer Edmundston, my name is Detective Ballard, from the Maryland Special Crime Task Force Unit."

"How can I help you, Detective?"

The short, brown-haired woman, reached inside the briefcase she was carrying, pulled out several documents, and handed them to the officer. "I have signed extradition papers to take Dean and Sam Winchester back to Maryland to stand trial for the double homicides of Anthony and Karen Giles."

Dean cocked a brow, a confused expression on his face, but remained silent.

Officer Edmundston took the proffered papers, stared at them briefly and then turned to stare at Dean. "Damn it, I knew he looked familiar."

"I've already stopped by the admit desk in the burn unit, and have them discharging Sam," Detective Ballard went on to say, as if she hadn't heard the officer. "And I would appreciate any and all cooperation the Idaho State Police can offer."

"You're here all by yourself?"Officer Connors' asked, looking her over, before taking the papers from his partner.

"Are you trying to insinuate that because I am a woman, I can't handle transporting two injured prisoners?" She eyed the officer. "That's sexual discrimination, Officer Connors. I would be very careful if I were you, or I might have to speak to your supervisor."

"Um, no, I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"I'll have you know I am a seventh-degree black belt, sir, and am more than capable of doing my job," she continued to upbraid the man as she glared at him. "I've already spoken to Captain Bartleson, and he assured me, I would have your full cooperation on the matter. Do I need to call him?"

"No," both men said simultaneously.

"Good." She turned her head to look at Dean for a moment, a faint smile crossing her features, and then returned her attention to the men. "Now, I'm gonna go to have him discharged, and then would appreciate a police escort to the stateline."

"We'll make sure he's ready to go by the time you get back," Officer Connors' grumbled.

"Good." She turned and strode back out the door.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The two officers help Dean into the awaiting dark colored sedan with gated bars across the backseat, and then carefully assisted Sam into the vehicle as well.

Sam slowly turned, laid back, and rested his head on his brother's lap. He glanced up at his brother with pain-filled eyes. "Dean?" he mumbled, the sedatives the doctors had given him, making his eyelids droop closed.

"It's okay, Sammy, I've got this covered. You just rest." Dean said quietly, after the door slammed shut.

Detective Ballard, slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and adjusted her mirror so she could see Dean. Revving the engine, she pulled out the parking space, and turned left onto the street, heading toward the interstate. "How's Sam doing?"

"Forged extradition papers, Diana?" Dean asked, ignoring her question for the moment.

"Not exactly. After your escape, and what with your and Sam's mounting criminal records, the police department and DA believe you boys were Pete's accomplices."

"So how are you gonna explain our escape?"

Diana glanced in the rearview mirror, a somewhat nervous expression on her face. "I'm gonna tell them the truth. Sam tricked me by going into some sort of fake convulsions, I pulled the car to the side of the road to check on him, you knocked me unconscious, and took off in my car."

"I'm not gonna hit you, Diana." Dean shook his head, hating her plan.

"Yeah, you are, Dean. And, you're gonna hit me hard enough that anyone seeing me wouldn't have trouble believing my story." She turned right onto the interstate, and glanced behind her to make sure the police escort was still following. "If you don't then you might as well get used to the idea of wearing a prison uniform."

"I'm sorry I got you involved in this."

"Don't be." She glanced over her shoulder at Sam, a sad smile gracing her heart-shaped face, and then returned her attention to the road. "Like I said before, I sleep better at night knowing you guys are out there doing what you do best."

"Still . . . ."

"Look, Dean, what happened to you and Sam was absolutely horrible, and if I have it in my power to help you, which I do, then I'm gonna help." Diana grabbed her map from the glove compartment, looked it over briefly, and then set it beside her. "I've already informed the Montana State Police that I would be transporting you boys through the state, and asked for a escort through there as well. So that doesn't leave us much time."

"I understand."

"After you steal my car, I want you to dump it off at some out of the way motel, and then get out of the state as fast as you can. And I don't even want to know where you're heading."

"Gotcha."

They drove through the rest of the state of Idaho in near silence, the only real sound coming from Sam as he moaned softly in his sleep. A few times he cried out in pain as the car hit bumps in the road. Dean was quick to sooth him back to sleep, and when that didn't work, he gave Sam two of the strong sedatives the doctors had prescribed.

When they reached the stateline, Diana opened her window, stuck her hand out and waved to the officers, who turned off to head back in the direction they'd just come from.

"Well, that was the easy part," she said as she rolled up the window. "We have about a half hour, Dean."

At the next exit, Diana pulled off the interstate and began searching for a good place to set her plan in motion.

"You sure you want to do this, Diana? I mean, the part about me hitting you?" Dean asked, still not liking the idea of punching a woman in the face, much less hard enough to knock her out.

"Yeah, not real thrilled about that, but being a detective, I've had worse happen."

Turning onto a dark secluded road, lined with trees on either side, Diana veered to the curb, opened the door and stepped out. She unlocked the back door for Dean, and waited until he had Sam settled. Holding onto the door for support, Dean slid out of the vehicle, and then quietly as not to disturb his brother, he shut the door.

"Dean?" Diana began tentatively, glancing around at the snow-covered forest. "About Charlie — I read his file after I got off the phone with you. He's killed so many people in cold blood."

"Yeah." Dean replied, already knowing where the conversation was heading.

"From what I could gather, you two are the only ones to ever have survived."

"Kinda figured that."

"You said, he has supernatural abilities now . . . what exactly does that mean?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Dean slowly released it as he scrubbed his hand across his face. "It means that if things don't go the way I hope they will, you're going to be witness to a killing spree the likes of which, no one has ever seen before."

"Somehow, I knew you were going to say that." She nervously tapped her fingers on the roof of the car, and shivered despite her heavy parka. "And this demon, you spoke of, do you think he'll actually kill Charlie?"

"Well, that's the plan. Whether it works or not, only time will tell."

Diana glanced inside the vehicle at Sam, and then looked at Dean. "He doesn't know Charlie is still alive, does he?"

Dean lowered his head as he shook it. "Nope."

"Don't you think you should tell him?"

He looked into her hazel eyes, and was shocked to see the deep concern etched in them for him and his brother. "No, I can't. Not now anyway. He needs time to heal . . . to feel safe."

"What happens if Charlie comes after you two again?"

"Guess I'll just have to deal with that if it happens."

Diana took hold of his uninjured hand. "You be carful, Dean. I wouldn't want to hear anything bad happened to you or Sam. And, unfortunately, I won't be able to help you again after this."

"You gonna get in a lot of trouble for this?" Dean asked, worried that he was jeopardizing her career.

"Probably will get passed over for that promotion I was up for, but some things in life are more important than work." She hesitated, smiling at Dean. "Besides, if you think about it, I'm still doing my job, fighting evil in whatever form it chooses to possess."

"I knew it was right to call you." He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her firmly, then let go, and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll never forget what you've done for us."

"Just take care of Sam and yourself, you hear me?" Diana took a step backward. "Now punch me, and don't hold back. If you do, I'll hit you back, and I really am a seventh-degree black belt."

"You're sure?"

"Dean." She stomped her foot on the ground. "Just do it, already." She closed her eyes in anticipation of the blow.

He still hesitated, not wanting to hurt her.

'Um, waiting here, Dean."

Balling his hand into a tight fist, he drew his arm back, and slammed it full-force into her face. Diana slid to the ground, blood trickling down the side of her face from where his silver ring connected with her cheek. He quickly checked to see if she was okay, then slowly dragged her further off to the side of the road, resting her head against a large maple tree. Rummaging through her pockets, he made sure she had her hand-held radio to call for help when she woke up, and then he limped back to the car.

Back inside the car, Dean flipped open his cell, and scrolled to find Bobby's number. After three rings, Bobby answered the phone.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Did yer plan work."

"It worked." Dean veered back out onto the road, did a quick u-turn, and headed back in the direction they'd just come from. "We're in Montana right, now, just gotta dump the car. So how long till you can meet us."

"Well, seein' as I am entering Montana right now, I'd say not too long."

"Okay, I'll give you a call back when I've found a place to stash the car, and then we can head for Oregon."

"Sounds good."

Dean hung up, glanced over his shoulder at Sam, to make sure his brother was okay, then returned his attention to finding an out of the way motel, just as Diana had asked him to do.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"So, Oregon." Bobby said, helping Dean carefully move Sam to the Impala. "Nice state."

"Yeah."

Once Sam was settled in the backseat, with his head resting on pillows Bobby had swiped from the hospital, Dean covered his brother with several blankets to make sure he stayed warm. Bobby got in the car, and Dean hobbled to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel, both shutting the doors at nearly the same time.

"A person could probably get lost there for a long time if they needed to."

"That's kinda the plan, Bobby."

"An' hunting?" Bobby finally broached the subject they'd both been avoiding.

"Not sure. The doctors said a full recovery for Sam could take about a year, barring any setbacks." Dean put the key in the ignition, turned it, revved the engine, and pulled out onto the street. "Maybe it's time we quit. Settle down somewhere."

Bobby cast a sidelong glance in Dean's direction. "Hunting's in yer blood. You really think you can quit?"

Dean eyed him for a second, then quickly looked away. "For Sam, I can sure as hell try."


	17. Chapter 17

_So last chapter, hope everyone enjoyed the story!! Hope the ending pleases everyone...let me know what you think!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Seventeen — Prologue_

Dean yanked on his grease smeared t-shirt in a hurry, and quickly tucked it in. Plopping down on the bed, he pulled on his boots, and then headed toward the bathroom of the small one bedroom apartment he and Sam had rented. He rapped on the door, and waited for all of ten seconds before knocking a little louder.

He glanced at his wristwatch, and shook his head in aggravation. "Come on, Sammy, your physical therapy appointment is in like twenty minutes, and I got to be to work right after."

"Not going," came Sam's muffled reply.

Dean leaned closer to the door, resting his head on the smooth wood surface. "What's your reason this time, dude?"

"Tired, Dean."

There was a sad resignation in Sam's tone that broke Dean's heart and frightened him more than he cared to admit. "It's only been seven months, Sammy. The doctor said you're making real progress."

Sam was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again Dean could tell that he was now sitting on the ground in front of the door. "Can't even hold a gun properly, much less pull the trigger if needed. Not to mention . . . ." his voice trailed off, and Dean knew he was thinking about the scars covering his chest.

His brother had been extremely careful never to let Dean see the damage left behind by the hot poker, Spanish Tickler, and subsequent surgery to repair the wounds, and to date, Dean hadn't even caught a quick glimpse at the scars. But, after doing extensive late night research on how to help Sam, Dean was fairly sure he knew what they would look like.

As far as Dean was concerned, the scars were badges of honor, they'd meant Sam had survived, that Charlie couldn't destroy him. Yet, he knew Sam would never see it that way. What the psycho had failed to do to Sam physically, he was now doing to him emotionally, and that absolutely terrified Dean.

Sliding down the wall, Dean came to sit on the floor. Resting his arms on bended knees, he sat there for the longest time thinking of the right words to say. All-the-while, he knew it wasn't just the bathroom door or even his own self-imposed walls that separated him and his brother now.

"Sam?" He waited, and when Sam failed to respond, his stomach clenched in tight knots. Lowering his voice, Dean tried again. "Sammy, it will get better. I promise it will. You just have to give it time."

"How long, Dean? A year . . . two?"

"I dunno, dude, but however long it takes, we'll get through it."

"Just want my life back . . . he took everything, Dean."

Dean scrubbed his hand across his face as he looked around the sparsely furnished apartment they'd rented from a kindly old woman named Ms. Burkitts. He then glanced down at the brace he wore on his left hand, and made a loose fist with it. _What the hell do I say to that? Charlie pretty much screwed our lives all to hell, so how do I make him believe something when I don't know if believe it myself?_

"Naw, dude, we're still here . . . yeah, our lives have changed . . . but, he can only take from us what we allow him to."

"Nice words, Dean, but do you really believe them?" Sam was quiet for a moment, and then added, "I know you'd rather be hunting then stuck here working as a mechanic and taking care of me."

"Dude, when and if I ever hunt again, you'll be right there by my side. I won't hunt without you, Sammy." A wry smile crossed Dean's features as he heard the lock turn, and knew he'd somehow made a little progress. "And if I have to, I'm gonna be kicking your ass all the way to everyone of these damn therapy sessions to make sure that day does come."

The door slowly slid open, and Sam trudged out, fidgeting with his t-shirt, trying to push it up higher around his neck to hide the long reddish scar that ran the length of it.

"Leave it alone, Sammy. You look fine."

Ignoring him, Sam continued in his vain effort to hide the scar from view.

Gripping hold of his brother's wrist, Dean stopped him. "I said, you look fine . . . no one who matters, cares how many scars you have. It doesn't make you any less of a person."

Sam pulled his arm away and brushed back a stray tear from his cheek. "Doesn't it, Dean? Christ, I can't even take my shirt off without all the lights being out."

"Take it off then, Sammy. Right now." Dean shook his head, his lips pressed firmly against his teeth. "I won't let you do this to yourself. I won't have you thinking that they matter, cause they don't." He took a tentative step toward his brother. "Yeah, what happened was horrible, but its just us, and I don't care if your entire body was covered with them, you're still the same person to me."

"Yeah, you think so, Dean?" Sam eyed him for a moment, then added, "You really do, don't you?" Sam gave a curt nod of his head, his lips quivering. "Okay, fine." Untucking his t-shirt, Sam yanked it off, balled it up, and threw it on the floor. Then he slowly removed the pressure bandage protecting his grafted skin, and tossed that aside as well. He glanced down at his chest, and then up into Dean's eyes. "So does it matter now?"

Whatever Dean thought to expect from all the pictures he'd seen of burns and skin grafts on the internet, he never would have imagined it would be this bad. Four long scars, each about the width of his hand, ran vertically across the length of his brother's chest and abdomen. Four more jagged scars cut a path through Sam's side and lower stomach. Several more, cut across and disappeared beneath the grafts only to reappear on the other side.

_God, this is all my fault. I should've been able to . . . he'll never forgive me for this. _Tears stung at Dean's eyes. Swallowing hard, he clenched his teeth, the muscle in his cheek jerking erratically. He opened his mouth to speak, faltered, and slammed it shut.

A sad smile crossed Sam's face. "Yeah, thought so." He bent, grabbed his shirt and pressure bandage off the floor, and slowly trudged from the room.

Before Dean had a chance to find his voice, he heard the front door open and then quietly click shut. _Damn it, Sammy, it wasn't the scars . . . I swear it wasn't. _

Dean brusquely ran his fingers through his hair, then yanked his cell phone out of his pocket. Scrolling down the list of names, he came to Jake's Auto Shop, jabbed the button, and waited for Jake to answer.

"Jake's Auto Shop, Jake speaking. How can I help you," came a gruff sounding voice.

"Jake, it's Dean."

"Hey, Dean," the old man's voice softened considerably.

"Listen, Jake, I can't come to work today, family emergency."

"Sam, okay?"

Dean could hear the concern in the older man's tone, and had to grin. Jake had lost his own son in the war two years earlier, and had taken it upon himself to be a father figure to Sam and him after he'd found out their father had died. He doted on Sam, and at times could actually make his little brother smile which was a rarity since Charlie, so Dean was hard-pressed to deny the old man anything.

"Yeah, just need to take care of something."

"Okay, Dean, see ya tomorrow then?"

"Yeah."

"All right."

"Thanks, Jake."

"Don't mention it." And never one to stand on ceremony, Jake hung up without saying good-bye.

Dean hung up and then called the physical therapist's office.

"Dr. Brenner's office, this is Cindy speaking, how may I help you?" said the receptionist.

"Hey, this is Dean Markenson, my brother Sam can't make his appointment today. He had to go out of town on a family emergency."

"Okay. Would you like to schedule another appointment for him, sir?"

"Yeah, Friday would be good."

"Let me check for a time." She was quiet for a moment, and he could hear her fingers dancing across the keyboard. "Friday, 10:30?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay, you're all set."

"Thanks."

"Have a good day, sir."

"You too." Dean hung the phone up, and returned it to his pocket.

Dean stood, and strode to the bedside table, snatched his keys off it, and headed for the front door.

Sam was already sitting in the Impala waiting for him, as Dean came outside, and shut the door behind him. Taking long strides, Dean reach the car within a few seconds. Opening the door, he slid behind the wheel, and glanced in Sam's direction. His younger brother stared out the side window, and if he knew Dean was waiting for him to look in his direction, Sam never let on.

"Have to make a quick stop at the store, Sammy."

"Whatever, dude," Sam said, without turning.

_Okay, so much for small talk. _

They drove to the store in near silence, the only sound to break the quiet was AC/DC playing on the radio. Dean pulled into the half-empty lot, quickly found a spot up front, and parked the car.

He got out and Sam followed at a few paces behind.

Dean pulled a cart out of the rack, and headed inside.

"What do you need a cart for?" Sam asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

"Just got to get a few things," Dean responded evasively as he strode down the aisle toward the back of the store. At the beer cooler, he stopped and started loading twelve-pack after twelve-pack into the cart until it was near overflowing.

"Ten twelve-packs, Dean?"

"You don't think that's enough?" He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "You're right, we probably need a few more." He reached in the case and pulled out three more twelve-packs.

Sam quirked a quizzical brow, his confusion clearly evident. "You planning a party cause we only know like three people in the whole town of Rivergrove, and I don't think Ms. Burkitts is the drinking type."

Dean strolled the cart away from him without answering, and smiled when he heard his brother running to catch up. On aisle one, he snatched a giant economy size bag of peanut M&M's from the shelf and headed for the checkout.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing? You're wasting half your paycheck on beer and candy."

Grabbing a bouquet of roses from the stand in front of the register, Dean added them to his order. When the cashier finished ringing up the order, Dean pulled out his wallet, paid for the groceries, handed the flowers to the cashier, and winked. "There ya go, sweetheart, great job."

The young twenty-something blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman smiled. "Thanks."

As they walked away, Dean heard the girl gushing to her fellow cashiers on how he'd made her day, and he grinned.

"You know her, Dean?" Sam asked, more confused than ever.

"Naw, just saw some guy givin' her a hard time when I came in, and thought she deserved them for not clockin' him a good one."

Sam turned and noticed how happy his brother had made the young girl, and nodded in understanding. "So you gonna tell me what you bought all the beer for?"

Dean shook his head. "No."

The boys loaded the beer into the backseat of the Impala, and Dean grabbed the M&M's and headed for the driver's side. Once inside the car, Dean started the car, pulled out of the parking spot and drove out of the lot, heading in the opposite direction the therapist's office.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at the town quickly disappearing from view as Dean pressed the gas peddle to the floor.

"Going the wrong way, dude."

"No, I'm not," Dean said, his mouth full of M&M's.

Sam turned back to glance at his brother, and shook his head in disbelief. "Look, as much as I'm enjoying this little buckets of crazy thing you got going on right now, I have an appointment."

"Canceled it."

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

"We're celebrating Sammy. Tomorrow will be seven months since that sonuvabitch died. And I for one, am ready to get on with my life."

The truth in that statement hit Dean with a force he hadn't expected, and it nearly stole his breath away. He recalled Charlie's warning that he would be back in six months, and had been constantly looking over his shoulder for the entire month, expecting to catch a glimpse of the crazed man out of the corner of his eye. Every time the phone had rung, a sick feeling crept into the pit of Dean's stomach. And each time Sam was out of his range of vision for more than a few minutes, or didn't respond when Dean called to him, Dean's heart would skip a beat, fearing Charlie was back.

"What if I don't feel like celebrating?"

"Can't drink all that beer by myself, dude," Dean said, hitching a thumb toward the backseat.

Dean pulled onto a dirt road almost hidden from view by overgrown trees and shrubs, and continued to drive until the road came to an abrupt end. Putting the car in park, he grabbed the keys from the ignition, and got out. He strode to the front of the car, and leaned against the hood. Sitting quietly, he waited until he heard the door open, then slam shut. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught sight of Sam approaching.

Sam sat beside him, tapping his fingers on his thighs. "So you gonna tell me what this is all about or are we gonna keep playing twenty questions?"

Dean was quiet for a moment longer as he tried to figure out what to say. "It wasn't the scars, Sammy." He turned to look briefly at his brother, then lowered his head. "You have to believe me . . . I swear to God, it wasn't."

"Dean — " Sam began, but Dean cut him off.

"I couldn't protect you from him . . . I saw him tearing you apart, and I felt so damn helpless cause I couldn't do anything to help you . . . and it's killing me inside . . . and i don't know what to do about it, or how to make the feeling go away . . .and I need you to forgive me."

"Wasn't your fault, Dean. I would be dead if it wasn't for you." Sam eyed Dean for a second, and then shook his head. "There's nothing to forgive."

Dean fought back the tears springing to his eyes. "Don't know what I would've done if he'd killed you."

"The feeling's mutual, Dean, you should know that."

"Still — "

"Still, nothing, dude, you're my brother . . .and I know you would die trying to protect me, but you're only human, Dean, and you can't blame yourself for what happened. I won't let you."

Dean turned to look Sam squarely in the eyes, searching them to find even the slightest hint of blame, but found nothing but concern etched in his hazel depths. "Thanks, Sammy."

"Don't mention it."

"Enough with the chick-flick moments, dude." Dean rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger, and then pushed away from the car, walked around to the backdoor and opened it. Pulling out a twelve-pack, Dean took out two, cracked one open and handed Sam one, then placed his on the roof of the car.

"So, we're really gonna sit here and down thirteen twelve-packs?"

"Nope." Dean grinned as he strode away from Sam, and started setting the bottles down in various locations, some high in trees, others low to the ground, until all the bottles in the first pack were gone, then he went back to the car, and grabbed another pack and did the same thing.

"What the hell are you doing, Dean?"

"Winchester family therapy." Dean strode to the trunk and opened it, pulling out Sam's .45 along with extra rounds, and headed back to where Sam was standing. "Here."

Sam shook his head, refusing to take the gun from Dean. "Already told you, I can barely get a good grip on the gun much less squeeze the trigger."

"You've been doing this practically your entire life, Sammy, and you can do it now." Dean nodded assuringly.

"Can't do it."

"Yeah, you can. Now take it," Dean ordered, doing his best impression of their father's authoritative tone.

Reluctantly, Sam snatched the gun from his brother's hands.

"Good. Now that wasn't so tough was it." Dean grinned.

"Still doesn't mean I can shoot the damn thing, much less have it actually hit anything."

"Well, maybe not at first, but that's why I bought a ton of beer."

"Dean, Dr. Lee said, I may never be able to fire a gun again because of the nerve damage to my hand."

Pursing his lips, Dean shrugged. "Don't care what she said, Dr. Lee doesn't know you like I do."

Dean grabbed hold of his brother's hand, and forced Sam to raise the gun. "Now, I want you to picture each and every one of these bottles as Charlie. Then I want you to blow that sonuvabitch away, over and over again until you've taken back what he took from you. Understand me?"

"Yeah, I gotcha."

Dean turned to look at his brother, and saw Sam's eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Hell, if thirteen twelve-packs isn't enough," he hitched a thumb back in the direction, they'd just come from, and continued, "I'll go back and buy out the store's whole damn supply of beer if I have to."

Sam smiled, and for the first time in a very long while, it reached the depths of his hazel eyes. "Thanks, Dean."

"Yeah, just aim that way, wouldn't want you to shoot me on accident." He chuckled.

Dean grabbed his beer off the roof of the car, and strode to the front of the car. Perching himself on top of the hood, Dean cracked open his drink and watched as Sam raised the gun and took careful aim. Sam hesitated for a moment, and then squeezed the trigger, his hand shaking so badly, he missed the target by a good several feet.

Sam swung to look at Dean, and instead of seeing the defeated look on Sam's face that Dean had seen so often since Charlie had entered their lives, Dean saw him grinning ear to ear.

"Meant to do that. Didn't want to dazzle you with my first shot."

"Figured that."

Leaning back against the window, Dean sipped on his beer as he watched his brother. At first, Sam missed every bottle, but slowly he learned to adjust for the lack of strength in his hand, holding his wrist firmly with his left, and hit nearly every target.

Dean nodded approvingly. _That a boy, Sammy. Just a few more months and we'll be hunting again._

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"I made a wager, and I won," Charlie sneered, glaring at the Yellow-eyed demon. "Dean did exactly as I predicted he would."

"True." The demon smiled malevolently. "But it seems as if you got more in the bargain than I."

"Are you trying to suggest that I tricked you?"

"No, I'm flat out saying it. I have no need to mince words."

Charlie chuckled, not in the least bit intimidated by the demon. "True, you were a little easy to predict. I got what I wanted, and I've spent my time well, learning how to use all my new gifts."

The demon nodded, glancing around at several mutilated bodies, scattered across the floor of the underground bunker. "I see that you haven't wasted your time."

"So are you here to try and kill me?" Charlie raised a brow, and started laughing. "Cause I gotta say that it won't be that easy."

"Oh, if I wanted you dead, you would already be dead."

Charlie wiped his bloodied hands on his shirt, and took a step toward the demon. "Is that so?"

"Don't doubt it for a minute."

Intrigued by the cocky nature of the demon, Charlie asked, "Then what do you propose?"

The demon jabbed a finger into Charlie's chest, and chuckled. "Ah, a man after my own heart. Well, if I had a heart, I suppose."

"Another wager?"

"My thoughts exactly . . . however this time, winner takes all."

"Fair enough."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

_Thanks so much for reading!! Hope everyone enjoyed the story!! And yeah, there is definitely going to be a sequel. So if you enjoyed, please look for "Whispers in the Dark" which I should be starting to write very soon!! Thanks again, bambers;) _


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